


Ashamed to Rise and Be

by Wolfy_P_Smith



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bipolar Gerard, Blood Fetish, Bob Is Unintentionally a Jerk, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I Really Love Ray Toro, Idiosyncratic Thoughts of Suicide, Idolized Frank, M/M, Physical Abuse, Self-Destruction, Strong Friendships, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-04 10:57:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3065270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfy_P_Smith/pseuds/Wolfy_P_Smith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard can feel himself breaking; his life is slowly shattering before him and all he can do is watch.  It started out as just verbal abuse, something he could tolerate, if only slightly.  But now, the abuse has progressed, and it'll take a real miracle to bring himself back up.  Luckily, he has his neighbor's best friend to talk to, Frank.  Gerard feels himself involuntarily being pulled towards the confident boy who radiates an "I don't give a shit about life" attitude.  And Frank may just be the key to pulling Gerard out of the hole he dug inevitably for himself so many years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Gerard is having trouble breathing. The air, it comes in, but he can’t seem to push it back out. _Hyperventilating_ , a voice in his head tells him. _You’re hyperventilating. Focus on taking deep breaths in and out._  
  
He clears his mind of everything except for the process of breathing, and suddenly, he’s not gasping but rather heavily breathing. Though he’s no longer deprived of air, he still can’t help but to sob hysterically into his hands, the moistness of his tears soaking into his dry fingers. His body shakes uncontrollably and he feels so impossibly feeble.  
  
Suddenly, his mother appears by his side, cradling him like the baby he is. “Shush, now, Gerard,” she whispers soothingly. “You’ll only upset him more if he hears you crying.”  
  
He cringes at the possibility of displeasing his mother’s boyfriend more. The verbal abuse is bad enough, and he can’t imagine it getting any worse. His constant suffering through the enraged insults thrown at him makes him want to die; he honestly cannot cope with it any longer.  
  
At first, Butch had been alright. He wasn’t anything like Gerard’s dad, that’s for damn sure, but he was tolerable. Constantly, Gerard and his little brother Mikey would find themselves alone in their small mobile home, abandoned by their own mother when she went on dates with her new boyfriend, Butch. They didn’t mind at first; that’s when all the fun happened. They would run around the tiny surface area of their house like the little heathens they were, shooting Nerf guns at flowerpots and getting into the frosting containers their mom hid in the back of the fridge. It was every kid’s dream. But as time went on, their mom was home less and less. The boys would have to do their homework on their own, cook for themselves, and remember to brush their teeth before bed.  
  
This resulted in a close, enviable bond between the kids. It also meant more time spent with the best grandma in the world, Elena. They’d call her Helena, and she would offer the best advice either of them would ever receive.  
  
It was when she died that Butch turned from mediocre boyfriend to evil boyfriend. Several days after the funeral, Gerard was still bawling his eyes out, refusing to eat, and hardly talking. By that time, even Mikey had returned to his normal self with only a slightly dampened spirit. But Gerard’s mourning must have rubbed Butch in all the wrong ways, for pretty soon, Gerard was facing a screaming man telling him twelve years old was far too old to be crying like a baby. “Are you a fucking sensitive little girl, Gerard?” he spat harshly in his face. “She was old— old people die. Stop fucking moping and crying in the kitchen. Do that in your bedroom, you piece of shit!”  
  
Gerard had been devastated and quite astounded. Never had anyone spoken to him like that in his life. Sure, his mom could fire some pretty foul words his way, but nothing to the extent of Butch’s episodes.  
  
The worst part was not the verbal dispute, though. No, the worst part was idly looking around for backup from his mom or brother but finding nothing. His mother frowned and Mikey stared with a blank expression planted on his face. Neither of them even muttered a single supporting word, and this killed Gerard. He had sprinted to his room and refused to come out the rest of the evening.  
  
He and Mikey had shared a room then, so he eventually had to unlock the door and let him in. When he did, Mikey had hugged his older brother tightly and said that it was going to be okay.  
  
“Why did no one say anything, Mikes?” Gerard had whimpered in desperate breaths.  
  
Mikey had just shaken his head and muttered something about how confrontation was not worth it.  
  
This had been the beginning of the constant Butch torture sessions.  
  
A month later, the brothers had been forced to leave their home to live a half hour away at Butch’s house. There had been promises to keep in touch with old friends, but Gerard never did make all the phone calls he said he was going to make.  
  
One night, Butch had called him out on his gothic apparel, saying he was an embarrassment and taking him places was humiliating. He had pointed out Gerard’s long black hair that hung over his eyes, his leather jackets and dark skinny jeans; even his favorite pair of black boots was brought up in a negative manner. Gerard tried not to let it bother him, but then Butch wouldn’t stop and it was killing him.  
  
He, of course, cried in his room until Mikey had come in and asked him to go to the neighbor’s house with him. Apparently, there was a boy Gerard’s age that had invited them over. Gerard had complained that he couldn’t because his eyes were puffy, but Mikey insisted, telling him it wasn’t that noticeable. Reluctantly, Gerard had agreed to go with Mikey to the Toro house.  
  
Ray was really cool. He was the perfect combination of good manners and humorous remarks. He also was a hellion on the guitar. Gerard found himself truly having a good time hanging out with Ray and Mikey, realizing later that night while lying in bed that he could already tell he wanted to be close with Ray.  
  
The summer of the move consisted of Gerard and Mikey spending all day at Ray’s house. It was the second week of the move when a new face showed itself at the Toro’s.  
  
“Who’s that?” Gerard had whispered as they watched Ray playing with a new boy in his driveway through a window.  
  
“Oh, you were in the bathroom when Ray told me about him,” responded Mikey. “That’s Frank Something. He’s Ray’s best friend, but he’s in a different school district. Come on, let’s go meet him.” With that, Mikey had opened the front door and jogged to the two boys playing, leaving Gerard to stalk creepily from the living room window.  
  
Gerard had always found it difficult to talk to new people. Ray was fine, since there was only one person, but groups were challenging for him. Watching Frank Something ride his bike with Mikey and Ray had him nervous. The kid had a sort of intimidating look to him; he was all messy dark hair, black clothes, and skintight jeans, much like Gerard. But the difference was that Gerard wore his dark attire to scare away the wandering eye, to hide himself from any potential threats. Frank, however, radiated confidence in a “look at me, hell yeah I’m dark, deal with it” kind of way. It terrified and excited Gerard at the same time, a direct juxtaposition that made him more anxious than anything.  
  
After a long time of gawking, Mikey had forcedly dragged a hissing Gerard outside with them, shoving him in the direction of Frank while murmuring, “Introduce yourself, you fucking vampire.”  
  
Gerard’s pale skin had flushed deep red as he waved awkwardly at Frank and gave him his name.  
  
Frank had smiled politely, but there was a hint of haughtiness to it. “Name’s Frank Iero.”  
  
And that was the beginning of Gerard’s obsession with everything Frank.  
  
They learned that he was a year younger than Mikey, two than Gerard and Ray. During the summer, he rode his bike over every couple of days and played with the boys like there was no tomorrow. For once, Gerard could forget about Butch and the soul-killing abuse he brought. Frank was his savior, someone he could count on to make his worries go away. Gerard soon discovered that while he was confident, he wasn’t overly so, rather just proud to be who he was. It made Gerard’s heart ache in a way he couldn’t quite understand.  
  
Then school had come along, separating Frank by the district boundary, and making Gerard once again anxious. He was grateful he could at least start middle school with Ray, who he had a couple classes with, but he wanted Frank to be there, too.  
  
It was tough to find people Gerard could talk to, for his dark appearance repelled most students. Of course, that was the intended effect, but his new school had lots of preppy, adolescent demons whose life goals seemed to be throwing as many death glares at Gerard as possible. At lunch, Ray had brought over his friends. They introduced themselves as Bob, Patrick, Pete, and Hayley. The mass of people had kept Gerard silent throughout lunch for the next couple of days, but eventually Mikey forced him into conversations and he found himself beginning to fit in with the small group.  
  
Still, it would have been nice to have Frank, but he still continued to ride over to Ray’s house at least once a week and on weekends. On Halloween that year, Pete invited everyone over to watch scary movies, including Frank. “You know the others?” Gerard had asked Frank.  
  
“A little,” Frank responded. “Bob’s pretty cool. I’m mostly just going to hang out with you, though.”  
  
Of course this had Gerard blushing like a madman, so he had to look away and hope Frank didn’t notice.  
  
The night had gone well, until Pete’s dad came in and announced someone was asking for Gerard on the phone. “Hello?” he had said into the phone nervously, his voice quavering.  
  
“Why the fuck are you still out?” he had heard Butch growl back.  
  
“It’s a Friday,” Gerard responded, his voice no more than a whisper. “Pete said we could stay over.”  
  
“With a girl in the house?” Butch queried. “I don’t think so. Get your ass home, now. Mikey’s, too.”  
  
“But we’re in the middle of a movie and the others are staying and Ray’s parents are going to drive us home—”  
  
“Know what, Gerard? I really don’t give a fuck. Ass home, now.” With that last statement, he had hung up, leaving Gerard defeated and slightly embarrassed that he’d have to collect Mikey.  
  
He had treaded into the living room, shoulders slumped, to announce his departure. Unfortunately for him, they had paused the movie, making for a more awkward way of parting. Now all attention would be on him and Mikey.  
  
“Mikey, we have to go home now.”  
  
“What? No, I don’t want to.”  
  
Gerard had sighed, muttering, “Please don’t argue. It was Butch on the phone.”  
  
Mikey’s eyes had grown wide with realization, and he had quickly gotten up and grabbed his backpack. “Hey guys, see ya later,” he said apologetically to the gang.  
  
“You sure?” Pete asked. “I said you all could sleep over tonight. My parents don’t mind.”  
  
“No, we can’t,” Gerard had quickly stammered out. He had tried not to be too obvious that they would be in serious trouble, but he had a feeling he wasn’t fooling anyone.  
  
Everyone regretfully gave their farewells to the brothers as they made their way outside to walk home. It would take them at least a half hour to get back by foot, and it was already dark out. Before they could make it to the sidewalk, Frank had run outside to catch them.  
  
“Hey!” he had panted, causing both boys to start. “Do you want me to call my aunt to take us home? I could come with and see if we could stay together at Ray’s. You think your mom would allow that?”  
  
“No!” the brothers had articulated simultaneously. “I mean,” Gerard added, “we wouldn’t want to mess up Pete’s party. You guys stay. Oh, and happy birthday.”  
  
It had taken some arguing, but eventually Frank had given up and went back to the house. Despite getting his way, Gerard had felt oddly disappointed. He liked watching Frank sleep, as strange as it was.  
  
When the boys finally made it home, both freezing from the autumn chill, Butch was livid for some reason. Mikey had pushed himself close to Gerard’s side; despite not receiving the nasty words to the extreme of Gerard, he still got yelled at frequently.  
  
“Thirteen,” Butch had said in a peculiarly calm voice that didn’t match his incensed expression. “You’re thirteen, Gerard. If I hear you fucking got a girl pregnant, I’ll beat your ass and you will _not_ live under my roof any longer.”  
  
“I don’t like Hayley like that,” spoke Gerard softly. “She’s my friend.”  
  
“Don’t you lie to me. Fuckers like you are always desperate. I wouldn’t be surprised if you raped the damn girl. I mean, look at yourself. You’re desperate.”  
  
“No, Butch, it’s not like that! I would never—”  
  
“Oh, yeah? So you have a different type, then. The girls nobody wants, the ones who sleep around, maybe you even wanna pick yourself up a damn prostitute—”  
  
And then Gerard had said it. The one thing he couldn’t even tell Mikey, his second half. He had said it to the wrong person at the wrong time, and it had set off an explosion so great, he thought for sure the impact would blow them all to pieces.  
  
“I don’t like girls in that way!”  
  
The room had grown so silent, Gerard could hear the blood pumping feverishly in his ears. He had felt Mikey stiffen at his side and he didn’t dare to even look up at Butch. It was over. His life was over.  
  
“What did you say?” Butch had roared, fury practically leaking from his mouth as the words sprayed out. Gerard hadn’t answered, and so Butch snarled again, “What did you say, that you’re a gay-ass fag?”  
  
That had been when the tears began. He couldn’t help them. He hadn’t even heard the insults boomed at him as he ran to his room where he sits now, still bawling as his mom holds him.  
  
He hates himself so completely, he doesn’t even understand why he lives. His life is pointless, a waste, and now he is going to die. Butch is going to come in, see him crying under his mom’s comfort, and kill him. He’s sure of it.  
  
He whimpers as he hears Butch’s heavy footsteps approaching his room, the hinges of his door squealing, Butch’s deep, atrocious voice commanding his mom to leave. When she does, Gerard snivels and pushes himself to the corner of his bed by the wall, rocking himself back and forth in fetal position. Butch doesn’t say anything, just grips Gerard’s upper arm and jerks him forward which such force that Gerard’s positive he’ll rip his arm straight out of its socket. He flings Gerard on the floor like he’s nothing but a stuffed doll and begins kicking him rapidly in his side.  
  
Gerard screams bloody murder in pain. Never, ever has anyone beat him before. He’s been so used to the mere verbal abuse; that, at least, he could semi-handle. But this, this is entirely different. The physical pain tears him apart. He was already a messed up kid, but Gerard knows that if he survives this beating, he’ll be changed forever.  
  
The kicking stops suddenly as his mom reappears, saying this isn’t necessary, that whatever Gerard did wasn’t worth the beating. But then Butch explains that Gerard is a fag, and suddenly, she’s disapprovingly staring at her son on the floor like he’s nothing but a pathetic, sick animal. She’s probably right.  
  
“Alright,” she sighs. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”  
  
Internally, Gerard yelps for his mom to come back and save him from this monster, but she doesn’t. She just leaves him helplessly on the floor of his bedroom with the evil-spirited man hovering above him possessively.  
  
He’s jerked up back on the bed where Butch repeatedly punches into his guts and slaps his face, his eyes shooting tiny daggers into Gerard’s now tender face. “You like this, don’t you. Motherfucking faggot, that’s all you are. You like me touching you, you disgusting pervert.”  
  
“No!” Gerard protests vulnerably, his voice weak and husky from screaming. “Stop, just stop!”  
  
But Butch doesn’t, not until a good half hour later. Gerard lays in his bed, unmoving and conquered, unable to do anything but stare absentmindedly at the pool of blood now on his sheets. Mikey bursts in and breaks into tears upon seeing the state Gerard’s in, but Gerard is too dried up to join him in crying.  
  
He drifts into a dreamless slumber, his last thoughts being of how Frank will be so chagrined when he learns of the lifeless creature Gerard has become.  
  
Or perhaps the lifeless creature he’s always been ever since Butch entered his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why the note disappeared from this chapter, but it did. Oh well.
> 
> For anyone new to this fic, I'd like to start out by saying this is my first (and only) serious work. Yay. It gets pretty morbid, but I promise there are some light moments, too. I understand it might be a bit dark for some readers or whatever, and believe me when I say it is hard for me to write. Please take the time to read the tags before proceeding any further. Anyway, let me know in the comments if you find something completely bizarre or if you really like something or whatever the hell you want.
> 
> Thanks for reading and you see that little heart button down there? The one that says "Kudos?" Yeah... that one. Why don't you just click it already!!! Just kidding. Only sorta. ^_^


	2. Chapter One Which is Really Chapter Two because of the Prologue (Thanks, Prologue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to the fact that I made Frank 2 years younger than Gerard, I decided I'd skip ahead four years where Frank is 15 and Gerard is 17. I can assure you nothing huge happens in this time period, just pretty much the same thing that has been going on. Sorry for this- it was really painful for me to skip so many years, but I felt it sort of necessary unless you wanna see junior high Gerard crushing on elementary school Frank. Yeah I'm not liking the sound of that... ^_^

“I am not going to do that,” Gerard spits in disgust at Bob.  
  
It is the last day before winter break, leaving all the kids in Ocean Breeze High School on the edge of their chairs and chattering loudly, despite having to take finals. Gerard is sitting at lunch with the usual group, a small smile plastered on his face as he glances at the kid Bob hates so much. Kellin Quinn, the boy with the long hair that frames his face perfectly, who already has a sleeve tattoo at seventeen years old, who hasn’t quite hit puberty resulting in an oddly melodic high pitched voice. Gerard personally thinks the boy is kind of cute, but Bob has held some kind of grudge over him apparently for the past eight years.  
  
“Fine,” Bob answers indignantly. “You’re too nice anyway. How about you, Hayley?”  
  
Bob circles around the table, asking each and every person if they’ll _please just tell him he looks and sounds like a girl_. Gerard personally thinks it’s a low blow, especially since one can’t help but to have a feminine name, voice, and appearance, but of course he keeps his opinion to himself. “Why don’t you say it yourself if you’re so determined, Bob?”  
  
Bob shoots Gerard an “I know you didn’t just question my tactics” look before concluding, “Already have. I just need some more people going at it.”  
  
Mikey rolls his eyes and gets up to go to class. Gerard follows quickly behind, wanting to get out of the conversation. He has his choir final next, which worries him a bit because he’s heard it’s pretty hard, but anything is better than listening to Bob rant on about Kellin.  
  
Hayley quickly jogs up to join him since they are in the same class. She casually drapes a lanky arm around his shoulder, saying, “Bob is being a douche.”  
  
Gerard tenses at the touch but tries to act normal as to avert extra attention. He nods his head at her notion, not knowing what to say. He’s never been much of a gossiper. “You ready for this choir final?” he asks, desperately trying to change the subject.  
  
She hums. “Not really. I didn’t even study. But I don’t care anyway because even if I can’t ace a written final, at least I know that I can sing better than half of the dumbasses in the class.”  
  
Smiling, Gerard again nods his head in agreement. Hayley does have a good voice, one that’s raw and enticingly melodious. “Probably better than all of us,” he suggests.  
  
“Nah, G, you have the voice of a fallen angel. You could be a rock star or something like that.”  
  
He blushes and modestly denies it as they walk into the choir room and take their seats.  
  
The final did prove itself to be hard, but music has always come naturally for Gerard, so he didn’t find it overly challenging. He’s always loved to sing and can even do it for large crowds somehow, but when it comes to smaller groups, he freezes up and his voice cracks. It’s a terrible curse, to be able to perform for hundreds of people but not for ten.  
  
Art is his last final, also being a skill he can do in his sleep. He quickly paints the still-life in front of him with watercolors and places it on a drying rack, finishing before most people have even started the painting process. The rest of the hour is spent with his head down against the cool, Sharpie-stained table and _Iron Maiden_ blaring into his ears from his headphones.  
  
As soon as the bell rings, Gerard springs from his art stool, nearly knocking it down. He has no friends in his art class, meaning he has no one to wait for, but this hardly bothers him, for he’s too excited about getting home.  
  
Normally, the idea of returning to Butch’s antagonistic lair each night brings dread and fear to Gerard; the verbal abuse is constant and the physical abuse occurring at least once a week. It’s for nothing, too. Gerard takes the last tissue from a box- he gets beaten. Gerard wears a shirt Butch especially doesn’t like- he gets screamed at. One time, Butch even went so far as to kick him out for a couple days, so he guiltily stayed at Ray’s. It was for forgetting to turn off the hall light.  
  
But now, Gerard can hardly keep in his excitement. Butch is gone for some business trip until Christmas and Gerard and Mikey’s mom is letting them go on a trip to New York City with Ray’s family. He’s never been on a vacation before, and here Ray is munificently paying for the brothers, Bob, and Frank.  
  
 _Frank_. It’s been almost two months since Gerard has been blessed to even be in the presence of the guy. Frank starting high school resulted in less and less of him biking over to Ray’s home. But when he does, he always makes time to hang out with Gerard and Mikey, too. Once, while Butch was gone, he was even allowed in the house. Gerard felt nervous showing him around; he wouldn’t let him go in his room in fear that he would see his bloodstained sheets and carpet. Besides, he hates his room. Butch had decorated it in a childish spaceman theme before they moved in, telling him he couldn’t change it.  
  
Gerard rushes to Ray’s car to beat the crowds; him and Mikey always carpool with him to avoid awful bus rides. He is the first to arrive, so he leans back nonchalantly on the hood of his friend’s Ford Focus and gazes at the people walking by; in spite of not liking to be in crowds, he sure does enjoy watching them from a distance. He envies those who wander around with their friends carelessly, whose biggest worries are how to get out of doing chores or deciding what shoes matched their shirt best. He absolutely despises his own situation, one where he selfishly pities himself at a constant rate. It seems unfair and ultimately a petty act. There are plenty of kids in the world that have it way worse than he does; he needs to suck it up and appreciate what he has.  
  
It’s not like it’s hard for him to remember this. Butch quite frequently makes sure to remind him that he can have Gerard’s gay ass on the streets with the snap of his fingers. It is unsettling having that uncanny threat continuously hanging over his head, raking at the edge of his every thought and action. Butch controls his life— hell, all of their lives. One move, one breath, one _thought_ that sets Butch even the slightest bit over his normal tolerance level will certainly have Gerard wishing he was never born. Well, more so than usual at least.  
  
Abruptly, he’s jerked away from his morbid thoughts as Bob, Mikey, and Ray appear, all having chemistry together for their last hour. Ray smiles when he sees Gerard, leaving Gerard intuitively smiling back even through his disconsolate musings. Ray has that effect on people, turning even the worst of days into brighter ones.  
  
“Who’s ready to fucking party in New York City?” Bob cheers, shoving Gerard into the back seat of the small, two-door car. He reflexively tautens at the touch but doesn’t say anything out of the red fear of discovery. So far, him and Mikey have been able to keep their dirty little secret from all- he isn’t about to change that.  
  
“We’re not going to party, Bobby Boy,” Ray states. “My family’s going to be there.”  
  
Bob wriggles his eyebrows mischievously. “Yeah, but we’re staying in a separate room on the story above them. Anything can happen.”  
  
Ray just glares as he, too, gets in the car and starts the engine. “I’m not having sex with you, Bob, if that’s what you’re implying. I think that might upset Christa a little.”  
  
The boys laugh, save for Gerard who merely allows himself to smile softly. Bob chuckles, “I meant, like, getting alcohol or something.”  
  
“That’s stupid,” Ray retorts.  
  
“Whatever, man…”  
  
When the boys all begin discussing girls that have hot bodies or (only in Ray’s case) beautiful personalities, Gerard’s cue to drown out the conversation can’t be clearer. He cranks his music as loud as it’ll go, closing his heavy eyes to his favorite CD mix playing in his portable Walkman. He wishes he could carry all of his music on one device, but Butch drilled into his head long ago that they’re too poor to afford trivial things such as iPods and that any extra money earned goes in his pocket. Funny that Butch considers the family underprivileged when it comes to money, yet he still goes out drinking with his buddies every night and gambling every weekend. Gerard wonders where that money comes from.  
  
He’s once again disturbed from his conjecturing by a harsh finger being jabbed into his upper arm. He jumps, not only startled but also pained at the disturbance of an old bruise healing in the exact spot the finger prodded at. He slips one earbud out and looks expectantly at Mikey, whose face, to his surprise, lacks its usual flush. Mikey only points a skeletal finger in the direction of their driveway a block down from where the car is.  
  
At first, Gerard doesn’t notice anything off or uncommon. His eyes frantically search for something alarming but find nothing. Just as he’s about to call Mikey out on being vague, he spots it, causing his heart to drop. Butch’s red pickup truck is parked in their driveway.  
  
It ruins everything; he is _supposed_ to already be out of town. Gerard and Mikey had previously lied to their mother, telling her that Butch had agreed on letting them go on the trip. The brothers always have had a certain clairvoyant connection, and now they telepathically shoot worried thoughts of dread and anticipation to one another. Their lies are about to come tumbling down in a massive heap of punitive words and ruthless beatings.  
  
Gerard doesn’t realize the hoarse groan rising from his throat until everyone fires at him a puzzled, concerned glance. He quickly tries to pass it off as a cough, but even Bob’s not fooled. No one says anything, though, so at least he’s saved from an awkward justification as to why he’s making disturbing zombie noises in the back seat.  
  
As they pull into Ray’s hole-filled driveway, Gerard sinks lower and lower into the safety of the car’s vinyl seats. As he waits for the boys up front to get out so he can climb out, too, he attempts to conjure up a hearty excuse to use on his mother and her boyfriend. He knows it is pointless, though, because they both are going to kick his ass. Mikey will get off the hook because he’s younger and always receives mercy, but Gerard can only dream of such luck.  
  
As he steps out into the cold, Jersey chill, he prepares his mind and body for the abuse that will happen in a matter of minutes. _You had this coming, Gerard_ , he repeats to himself. _You had this coming when you decided to lie for your own convenience. You deserve this._  
  
Just as he is beginning to believe the poison he’s feeding himself, Ray says, “You guys go ahead and pack your stuff into the cars with my parents. Suitcases go in the family car, small stuff in mine. Just put the small stuff on the counter for now. I’ll be back with Frankie in a minute.” With that, he’s back in the car and on the road.  
  
Mikey and Gerard exchange a look, an unspoken agreement that there is going to be no NYC trip for them this winter. “We, uh,” Mikey begins, “we have to go to see our mom real quick. You, uh, stay here.”  
  
Bob narrows his eyes and glares at them in disbelief. “No way, Ways!” he barks. “Conveniently disappear just as there’s work to do? I don’t think so.” He shakes his head.  
  
“Bob, we’ll be right ba—” Gerard tries to speak.  
  
“Nuh-uh,” the pigheaded Bob obstinately says. “I won’t have it. Help me pack or I’ll make your lives torture throughout this entire trip.”  
  
“Shut the fuck up, Bob!” a fed up Mikey practically yells. “We lied to our mom and now have to go deal with it, so do yourself a favor and stay out of it!”  
  
Bob is stunned silent, giving time for the brothers to make their escape. The small success of finally shutting their friend up is soon crushed by the expectation of what’s to come.  
  
Gerard is the one to turn the knob of their unlocked, decayed wooden door, hesitating slightly as he steps a foot onto the grime-filled ceramic tiles of the entryway. The house is eerily quiet, save for the distant hum of the laundry drier. He peers back at a wide eyed Mikey, whose frightened look is emphasized by his large glasses. Gerard is sure his face is an exact mirror of his little brother’s, but he tries to feign assurance for Mikey’s sake. He smiles weakly, but it doesn’t meet his eyes and Mikey sees right through it. Gerard curses their telepathic connection at this moment.  
  
They both make their way through the narrow hallway, only to immediately be taken aback by an already fuming Butch.  
  
“Well, well, well,” he growls, his words so heavy that they practically drop to the ground with each syllable. “Look who decided to come home. The fag and the,” he slits his eyes at Mikey, not sure what to make of him, “…whatever you are. Trying to save your lying asses, are we?”  
  
Suddenly, their mother appears behind him, her bleached blonde hair and belly-shirt barely visible behind the hulking Butch. “You sons of bitches,” she spits out in her husky smoker voice. “How could you lie to your own mother? You two should be ashamed.” She scowls so intently at Gerard, her hollow face scrunching disapproval yet her eyes spelling indifference. He knows she really doesn’t care, that she only masquerades it for her boyfriend’s approval.  
  
Gerard trembles in fear and the unfairness of the whole situation. Mikey’s presence has already been disregarded, and now all attention is on him; he’s the real target, as usual.  
  
All he can do is watch as Butch takes a step forward and connects his fist with Gerard’s gut. Gerard lets out a small _oomph_ , but he saves the screaming for the later punches that will be pulled less. He remains standing, not wanting to be kicked just yet.  
  
Apparently, though, Butch has a different idea as to where this punishment is going. “Lay on the ground,” he demands. “Now.”  
  
Gerard doesn’t dare waver and quickly has his back pressed against the dirt-infested carpet of the living room floor. He closes his eyes; it’s easier to cope with the pain when he can’t see it happening.  
  
“You little gay fucker want to tell me why it’s okay to lie to your mama, huh?” Butch growls, suddenly very close to him on the ground. “You know where faggot little liars like you go to? They burn in hell with Satan like they belong.” That’s where the talking halts and the kicking begins.  
  
Sometimes, Gerard tries to hold on, to breathe through the pain and keep consciousness. Today, however, he feels too defeated. His perfectly happy mood is always, _always_ crushed by the man towering above him, and he hardly sees a point in trying to stop it. He feels Butch’s boot connect with a scabbed over cut on his abdomen, instantly gashing open the wound again. The blood oddly tickles as it makes its way down his bony side and through his double layer of clothes, dripping at a steady rate onto the cream carpet. This has always been his favorite part of the beating, one that he actually didn’t mind. Blood fascinates him in every way possible: the metallic smell enticing, the crimson hue strikingly beautiful, the slow leak resulting in a light-head beckoning. The best part about blood, though, is the fact that without it, Gerard would be nothing. If enough of it is drained, Gerard’s suffering will end for the rest of forever. He will leave no more than an empty, limp body on this Earth and instead let his soul wander through its own world. This very thought is a small, soothing promise to Gerard from Death himself: if life gets too hard to handle, there’s always blood to be drained.  
  
“Dammit, he’s staining the carpet,” Gerard’s mother realizes. “Do that in his room, would you?”  
  
He feels himself being dragged on the ground, smiling through bleary eyes at the trail of red he leaves. Once in the bedroom, Butch no longer holds back and instead begins rapidly kicking, punching, and choking, not bothering to strike at places where it’d go unnoticed since school is out. “You gay bastard,” Butch rumbles under his breath. “You’re getting too old to need a whoopin’. Mikey!” he screams unexpectedly.  
  
This brings fear to Gerard; what if Butch tries to hurt Mikey, too? Gerard is too weak to protect him, and even if he could, he knew he’d be too afraid to. He constantly whines to Mikey about never defending him, but he knew if the table was turned, he probably would be the same way, eyes luminously observing from a distance.  
  
Mikey appears at the doorway, his tall, gangly body hunched. He shoots Gerard a terrified look before peering down at Butch. “Y-yes?” he stutters, his voice hardly justifying itself as a whisper.  
  
“Go tell your friends you’re not coming because Gerard lied to his mother.”  
  
Mikey nods, quickly making his leave.  
  
“Are you happy, Gerard?” roars Butch in his tenor voice. “You’re fucking punishing your brother for your mistakes.”  
  
Gerard doesn’t even bother to argue that they both made the mistake; Butch knows this already. He just swallows some blood he induced from clamping down on his tongue and relishes its copper taste. Securing his eyes shut again, he braces himself for more pain to come.  
  
He’s not let down: it comes forceful and ready. He feels himself slip into the darkness earlier than usual, though. He wonders briefly if it’s because this is an especially gruesome beating or because he’s given up. Perhaps a combination of both. He’s not given time to ponder on this, though, because pretty soon, he’s unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay and now for the disclaimer. I just wanted to say that these characters are completely fictional in every way possible. I know, obviously that's true, but the more I think about it, the more I feel guilty for writing up a world about Gerard and Frank that doesn't exist (yeah I know, hence the reason it’s call an Alt Universe fanfiction). I could go on about this, but I'll spare you the rambling and end it with this: All characters in this work have made up personalities that don't necessarily match their real world personalities. My apologies go out to anyone reading for creating extremely OOC people. Please don't hate me.
> 
> Also, guaranteed Frerard Fluff in the next chapter. Remember what that Jean-Jacques Rousseau person said? "Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet." Frerard is pretty sweet.


	3. Chapter 3

He awakens feeling numb everywhere. He doesn’t dare move a single inch of his body out of fear of replacing the numbness with stinging pain. Once again, he can feel himself caked in filthy blood, making him itch for a cool shower. The darkness engulfing his bedroom and the stillness of the house assures him that it’s late at night.

And thus the crying begins. He doesn’t even try to stifle the huge sobs shaking his body. Let Butch hear them. Let him come raging in and finish the job. Let him kill Gerard.

Before he can get too far in his self-loathing, however, he hears a hushed whisper say into the dark, “Gerard?”

Gerard starts, which he instantly regrets, feeling vicious pain spring up _everywhere_ and disrupt his precious numbness.

“G, it’s just me, Mikey,” comes the voice again, soothing in a way that slows down his racing heartbeat a tad.

“Mikes…?” Gerard breathes, instantaneously relieved to have the comfort of his best friend’s voice in his ear.

“Yeah, big bro,” Mikey murmurs, petting Gerard’s head with a gentle hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Fuck,” mumbles Gerard.

Mikey lets out a forced laugh. “We’re leaving, G. We’re going anyway. I already got your stuff packed in the car.”

Suddenly, Gerard’s confused on all sorts of levels. Leaving? As in to New York? “B-but,” he tries to get out, but it hurts too much.

Mikey calms him, though. “Don’t worry about it. Ray and I have got it all figured out. His family is already in the City, but Ray, Bob, and Frank are still here and waiting—”

“Fray?” he tries to say, shocked by this sudden new bit of info.

“Yeah, that’s what I just said. Anyway, we’ve gotta—”

“Fray?” Gerard interrupts again, very much interested.

Gerard can see Mikey roll his eyes even in the dark. “Yes, G, your crush stayed behind. Must be a declaration of his undying love for you. Now shut up so I can tell you the plan before one of the parents wakes up.”

Gerard cringes at the light use of “parents” but shuts himself up anyway.

“Thank you. So we have to enter super stealth mode to make the escape or else we’re busted and Butch most likely will kill you. We’ll leave through the sliding back door and cut across the backyards of the neighborhood until we reach the corner of the block where Ray and Frankie are waiting. Gotta have it that way or we’ll risk getting caught. Think you can walk that far? ‘Cause God knows my scrawny arms ain’t carrying you.”

Gerard nods, his only thoughts being of Frank. He would drag his body across a spike-filled pit if it meant getting to Frank. The younger boy symbolizes everything Gerard wants to be: confident, sweet, brave, and damn good looking.

“Okay, we have to leave now, then,” Frank speaks softly, hoisting himself off the floor. “Here, grab my hand.” Mikey suppresses a grunt the best he can as he pulls his older brother off the ground. “Okay, now lean on me and let’s get the hell out of here.” Gerard feels a gentle arm go around his shoulder awkwardly due to the difference in height, but it’s helpful nonetheless. Looking down at the carpet, he sees fresh blood layering on top of old, crusted blood stains and cringes.

“How bad is it?” he whispers raspingly to Mikey.

“Probably as bad as it feels. Ray has a first-aid kit in his car. Let’s get there as soon as possible.”

Gerard dreads showing up to his friends looking so much more ugly than usual. Especially with Frank being there. The worst part will be the concerned questions thrown his way as they make speculations as to why he’s injured.

He wants to ask Mikey what they know, but he doesn’t dare let out a single breath inside the house as he limps to the back sliding door. The questions can wait; their escape can’t. With his free arm, the younger brother prudently slides the door just a sliver open, enough for each of the skinny brothers to squeeze through. Never has Gerard been so happy to be underfed in his life.

A sigh of relief escapes both boys simultaneously as they go seemingly unnoticed. They hobble down the backyards, only five to go until the end of the block.

“Mikey,” Gerard huffs, nauseous and out of breath.

“Yeah, G?”

“How much do they know?” he slurs, his words uncomfortably heavy and hard to pronounce.

Mikey sighs. “I had to tell them something, Gerard. They wouldn’t buy the whole ‘we can’t go because we’re grounded’ shit. So I told them Butch was beating the living daylight out of you. That’s all the details they know, but, uh…” he stops talking for a second, then continues, “it’s enough.”

Gerard tries to nod but it hurts his pounding head too much. He keeps the pain in, his only motivation being Frank. If he can make it to the safety of the car, he can see Frank and everything will be better. He feels his heart ache just picturing how the other boy will take in his own bloody appearance. He’ll probably be disgusted, but at least Gerard will get to see him. That’s all that matters.

They’re about a house away from Ray’s car when he first catches sight of the younger boy. He’s as short as ever, but his hair has grown out a bit, and from what Gerard can see, he has a new lip piercing. Gerard wants to smile at him, but smiling uses too many muscles.

“Oh my God!” is the first thing he hears come out of Frank’s angelic voice. Gerard cringes slightly, wanting at least a “Hey, G! Oh, are you alright?”

Mikey interrupts any verbal exchange that was going to happen by hissing, “Talk in the car but we gotta leave.”

Mikey helps Gerard over a sleeping Bob into the back seat of the small car and is about to get in next to him, but Gerard sees Frank put a hand on his shoulder. Before Gerard can process the silent interchange between the boys, Frank is seated in between him and Bob and Mikey is in the passenger’s seat. He blushes deep red, praying it’s covered by the dark night. Yes, the idea of sitting next to Frank in a two hour long car drive is auspicious, but he’s bleeding and horrific looking right now. That’s definitely _not_ a side he wants to reveal to Frank.

The car is heavy in silence for a few moments before Ray, who’s beginning to drive, breaks it. “Gerard… are you okay there, bud?”

His heart sinks low in his chest and he closes his eyes out of embarrassment. He nods slowly until he realizes Ray can’t see him so he lets out a husky, “Yes.” It’s not as convincing sounding as he would like.

“Do you need, like, a doctor or something?”

“No.”

“Oh, ok. Uh, Frank, there should be a first-aid kit by your feet. Mind helping G out?”

Frank smiles worriedly at Gerard and says, “Of course.”

The car is still awkwardly silent, making Gerard feel so uncomfortable. “Can you guys talk or listen to music or something? The silence is killing me.”

They seem to have been waiting for that, for instantly Ray and Mikey start up a conversation and blare some David Bowie.

Frank remains silent as he gently dabs at some visible wounds on Gerard’s face with rubbing alcohol. Gerard bites his lips at the sting, but he can’t bring himself to really mind, because _holy shit, Frank is so close._ He refrains himself almost penitently from allowing his eyes to trail hungrily to Frank’s lips, and instead settles for gazing at him in his incandescent eyes.

“Gerard,” Frank laughs quietly while moving to a wound on his exposed collarbone. “You’re scaring me right now. Can you, like, not stare at my eyes like you want to gauge them out?”

His cheeks yet again burn red and he hurriedly stammers out, “N-no! I wouldn’t do that. I just- they’re, uh…” He can’t bring himself to finish. _They’re beautiful_.

Frank just shushes him and places a light, calloused hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, G. I was only teasing.” He gently moves his hand down Gerard’s arm, involuntarily sending shivers down his spine and causing his stomach to twist pleasantly. The hand doesn’t stop until it meets Gerard’s own.

“Fuck,” Frank chuckles, “your hands are freezing. Yo, Ray, crank up the heat!”

Ray shoots him an “I know you didn’t just tell me what to do with _that_ tone of voice” look before submitting and slightly turning up the car heater.

Quite honestly, though, Gerard doesn’t give a rat’s ass about how cold he is, because Frank is _holding his hand._ As if reading his thoughts, Frank gives the hand a light squeeze. A toothy grin creeps up on his face, which Gerard willingly returns.

But just as quick as the hand holding starts, it’s suddenly over. All at once, he feels the chill air and is thankful for the heater, though he much rather have his source of heat come from Frank’s body pressed against his.

“Are you bleeding too bad anywhere?” Frank questions. “Because it’s really hard to do this in the car and we’re stopping to eat in a little anyway. Think you can wait ‘till then?”

Gerard nods even though his body screams for immediate attention. He can wait if it conveniences Frank.

“Okay,” Frank nods with Gerard. “Can you please tell me what happened?”

And despite being safe with his friends and feeling undeniably grateful, Gerard bursts into tears. He’s slightly humiliated for being a junior in high school sobbing in front of his best friends, but only slightly.

Ray and Mikey stop their conversation and try to comfort him while Frank awkwardly wraps him in a loose hug. He cries into his friends’ comfort, thinking only of how stupid he is. How could he have upset Butch so much in the first place? He despondently wishes he could go back in time to when the boyfriend first showed up at his old home and treat Butch like he would treat his real father. Gerard knows he must somehow deserve the treatment he’s given, that he must’ve earned it. There’s no other justification; if it was just Butch hating teenage boys, Mikey would receive the beatings, too. No, something is terribly messed up in Gerard’s head. There must be some sort of wire disconnected. It would explain his eccentric fascination with blood and his fucked up reasons for desiring to be with men and just _everything_. Coming to this conclusion makes him feel worthless. He doesn’t want to be with his friends right now. He’d rather be on the floor of his bedroom, beaten to the pulp, only threads keeping him attached to this world.

“Let’s stop to eat,” Ray proposes suddenly. “Eating always makes me feel better.”

But not for Gerard. He only really eats when it’s truly necessary, when he’s so lightheaded that he can’t walk properly. Still, Gerard is glad for the diverted attention.

As soon as they pull up to a Waffle House, Bob shoots out of the car and towards the entrance. “That fucker wasn’t sleeping,” mumbles Mikey under his breath. “He just didn’t want to get involved in the drama.” Gerard doesn’t share his brother’s frustration, however; he is just appreciative that Bob does not want to get involved. The less, the better.

Frank pulls out of the embrace they were still engaged in and gingerly wipes away Gerard’s tears, smiling lightly. “Look alive, sunshine,” he whispers. “It’ll be okay, eventually. For now, let’s eat some motherfucking waffles and fix you up.”

Gerard nods tentatively, glancing inside of the glass windows of the restaurant only to see that’s it is crowded for being so late at night. He’d rather not walk in there in his bloody, crying state and silently curses Ray for choosing the busiest place to eat at.

“Come on,” Frank commands, gently pulling a wobbling Gerard out of the car. Gerard knows his condition must be worse than they all initially thought as he steps out in the dimly lit parking lot, for all four of the boys’ eyes nearly pop out of their heads. It would almost be humorous if Gerard was in a lighter mood.

“You look like you went to hell and back,” Mikey says, his voice an odd mixture of awe and worry. “Like,” he continues, “you’re so bruised and bloody. G, are you sure he only used his hands and feet? You just… you look…”

“Stop,” Gerard inaudibly murmurs, on the verge of tears again. The whole situation screamed humiliation. He had never wanted his friends to find out— he’s always gone to drastic measures to make sure of it— and yet here they are, gawking at him like he is some sort of unworldly extraterrestrial.

But Mikey didn’t hear him and sustained his rambling. “…Maybe we should call the cops or something like that. Maybe we should’ve a long time ago—”

“I said stop!” Gerard yells in his pitiful voice, more forceful this time.

“I… sorry, Gerard,” Mikey complies. “I’m freezing my ass off out here. Can we go inside and eat?”

They all readily agree and step inside the toasty, syrup-scented restaurant. The aroma kills the appetite Gerard had been trying to muster up; now all he wants to do is take a nap. For the rest of his life. Never waking up.

As expected, all eyes in the room turn to stare at the five boys, especially at Gerard. He feels his skin burn under their presumptuous gazes. They probably all think him an emo freak who has some crazy self-harm methods. He flinches as a particularly hateful glance is passed by a middle-aged woman.

“Uh, I’ll order for you if you want to go to the restroom and finish cleaning up,” Mikey suggests. Gerard nods and tells him he only wants a coffee.

He timidly limps his way to the bathroom, hoping for it to be desolate. No such luck; a balding older man with gray, bushy eyebrows is lathering his hands in soap at the sink. Gerard gulps nervously and sheepishly makes his way to the other sink, not sure what to do with himself.

The guy looks Gerard over, his eyes slowly taking in his entire figure, lingering on his mouth.  “Young lady ,” he speaks in a raspy voice, shooting him a perplexed look. He peers closer at Gerard’s face and corrects himself.  “Er, young man.” He stares intently at Gerard’s visible wounds and smiles sadistically. “Ah. Believe it or not, I was a kinky lad too, once.  Used to participate in what you youngsters call ‘blood-play’ all the time.”

Gerard, mortified, widens his eyes at the man and takes a step back. “Y-you’re mistaken, sir. I d-didn’t get this way from _that_!”

The man just laughs loudly. But after a while, the laughs morph into a series of coughs. “I’m only messing with you, boy. Do you need some help cleaning up?”

Not sure he wants to accept help from the man with a warped sense of humor, Gerard just stares at the man, terrified eyes desiring to look at anything but this man, but brain saying it might not be a good idea to turn his back to the stranger.

“Oh, I won’t bite, kid!” the man bellows through laughter. “Not any more than your significant other did, that is.”

Gerard feels the tears threatening to appear again as the old man cracks dirty jokes at a nonstop rate. Why couldn’t he just be done with washing his hands and leave Gerard alone?

To his luck, Ray walks in right then which for some strange reason sends the man out.

“You doing okay?” Ray inquires with genuine concern.

“That old guy was being a creep,” Gerard gasps, strain heavy in his voice. “He talked to me about blood-play.”

“Um, okay then. That’s really disturbing, Gerard.” Ray attempts to laugh it off, but Gerard is too depressed to even hint at a smile right now. Ray awkwardly recovers and clears his throat. The tension in the air couldn’t be thicker. “Oh, um, you forgot the first-aid thing, so I brought it. Here, lemme help you.”

“No!” Gerard quickly retorts, afraid to show even the slightest bit of his skin under his clothes. He knows it’ll be bad and he doesn’t want it to show to his best friend.

Ray sighs and rolls his eyes in an almost exasperated manner. “Gerard, _please_ don’t make things like this,” he says softly. “I’m your friend; I am not going to judge you for something someone else did to you. You’re the victim, not the offender.”

That last part gets to Gerard, most likely not in the way that Ray intended. Isn’t he just as bad as the offender for initiating the beatings? He’s no victim. He’s the criminal.

“Listen to me, Gerard,” continues Ray. “Don’t be ashamed. I won’t even say anything about the marks, I’ll just clean them. Okay?”

Gerard doesn’t realize he’s nodding until Ray is motioning for him to take off his bloody jacket and shirt. Fortunately, the blood stains don’t show up on the blackness of his clothes. Looking down at his now bare torso, he sees that he is littered in a sea of black, blue, and red. Blood still gushes from his reopened cut, enough to make Gerard smile a bit. It truly is a small beauty in the world.

“Dude, why are you grinning like a madman?” Ray inquiries cynically.

Gerard doesn’t answer, just grabs a paper towel to dab at the blood.

“Quit patting at it, G,” demands Ray. “You need to apply pressure. In fact, how about you just stop touching all together. Let me handle this one.”

Hesitantly, he obeys. He doesn’t allow himself to flinch at the pain inflicted upon him as Ray ineptly pours half a bottle of rubbing alcohol down his side. After he’s bandaged up to the best of the unqualified Ray, he slips back on his shirt and jacket and makes his way out of the bathroom and to the booth where his friends are already chowing down. “Thanks, Ray.”

Ray only smiles sweetly and pats him sensibly on the back before taking a seat next to Mikey. Gerard slides in by Frank, probably a little too invasive of his personal space. Fuck it. The night has been rough- he could allow himself this small victory.

“I went ‘head ‘nd ordered you a chocolate waff-le,” Mikey says through a stuffed mouth. “You betta eat the hell outa it.”

He only stares at the food before him, feeling queasy and nauseous. It seems to stare back, promising a stomachache if he dares take a bite. He instead sips from his now cooled coffee, watching his friends eat and chat idly. Bob complains about Kellin Quinn, Ray rants about a new band they _must_ begin listening to, and Mikey discusses his obsession with unicorns. Only Frank remains silent next to Gerard, his food also untouched.

“Why aren’t you eating?” Gerard asks, attempting to converse with him as if nothing happened that day.

“I asked for no bacon, and guess what they did? Put bacon on my BLT.”

Gerard chuckles lightly. “Those inconsiderate bastards.” He’s awarded with a small laugh from Frank.

“Why aren’t _you_ eating?”

Gerard looks down at his food again, feeling the biliousness returning. “I’m not that hungry right now.

Frank gives him an understanding look before the prying begins. “Gerard, can we please talk about what happened? No one is listening.”

The blood from Gerard’s face drains. He wants nothing more than a small break from the horror that he’s in and wishes desperately that his friends would appear apathetic, just for his sake. He wishes they’d accept his need for solitude, accept the fact that he’d rather just handle his feeling alone. He’s undeserving of their sympathy, or even their listening ears. He needs seclusion, even if that seclusion only brings him more desolation. He’ll suffer through the misery because it brings him shelter. It is the perfect cycle of a defeated loner.

“Can… can we not talk about it?” begs Gerard.

Frank sighs, defeated. Gerard tries to appreciate his win in the argument, but Frank’s crushed look only adds more guilt and pain. “Frank,” he whimpers in a small voice, needing to change the conversation. “I wish I was as confident as you. You… you don’t let anyone mess with you, I bet.”

For some reason Gerard doesn’t understand, Frank flashes him a pale, ghastly white face. But before Gerard can analyze its meaning, Frank’s back to his usual, cocky demeanor, saying, “Yeah, I don’t. All the kids at my school are afraid I’ll beat the shit out of them.” A quick glance at Gerard’s horrified gape instantly forces him to rephrase his previous statement. “Er, theoretically speaking, of course. I don’t actually beat kids up. That’d be cruel. And deadly, considering the fact that I go to a well-disciplined Catholic school.”

Gerard is about to ask about what Frank’s school life is like for the millionth time before Bob rudely interrupts their satisfyingly private conversation. “You two going to eat your food or gawk at it all fucking night? ‘Cause I could eat an entire cow right now.”

“Have at it,” Frank invites, gesturing to the food before them.

Gerard watches in sheer amusement as the three other boys thrash out at the food like they hadn’t just had their own meal, all trying to grab Gerard’s chocolate waffle first as if it is some sort of holy matter. Bob succeeds, licking the whole thing to claim it as his own. He then reaches to drench it in syrup and slather it in butter. Mikey grabs for the BLT, a little less enthusiastically, leaving Ray with a measly piece of sausage from Gerard’s plate. They boys quickly finish off their seconds before paying the bill. Ray sets out a five for the MIA waiter. This leaves Bob practically steaming, because _if he wanted his damn tip, he would have done his job_. Gerard watches as Ray turns his back, giving Bob leeway to pocket the five. Which he does.

They all pile into the car again, bellies full (save for Gerard and Frank). Gerard feels a little better now that his side is bandaged, so he throws in his word every once in a while at the conversation forming before him.

Soon, though, fatigue he didn’t even know was there wins over, and he finds himself leaning against Frank blearily. Frank doesn’t push him away but doesn’t make a move to snuggle back. Gerard doesn’t really mind, though. Any touches, as subtle as they may be, are enough for him. He closes his heavy eyelids and finds himself drifting off to Bob’s noisy bantering and Ray’s melodic laughter and Mikey’s low grumbling.

But before he can completely shift into dreamland, he feels once again the rough fingers of Frank’s hand lightly cover his own. He doesn’t dare move a single inch, afraid to scare the touch away. Instead, he lets it be the last thought he has before he peacefully slips into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's becoming a pattern: Gerard must always fall asleep at the end of the chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

“Are you boys mentally impaired?”

Ray groans into his hands, which only spurs another patronizing remark from his mother.

“The poor boy could’ve bled to death! Would that have made you guys happy? Get your coats on- we’re going to the effing hospital.”

Which, in turn, initiates a series of groans from all five of the teenagers, especially Gerard. His cheeks burn bright red from utter humiliation, and he only wishes to curl up in a fetal position and forget all the mess his life is.

But nobody dares directly oppose Ray’s fuming mother- rather they all put their coats on and silently make their way to the Toro’s family car, a bulky minivan nicknamed the Boat. It’s odd to be out so late— no, early, it’s three in the morning— but the streets are pleasantly deserted, making for an easy trip straight to the nearest hospital. Of course, this only adds to the steaming tension in the car; it feels so stuffy that Gerard is afraid he’s going to straight up have an asthma attack or something. Not that he ever has- it just seems fitting considering how the windshield practically fogs over with the seemingly unbearable tautness that coats the air so thickly.

Something warm and sticky trickles out of his nose,, tickling his skin as it trails down his face. He inadvertently brings his fingers up to meet the thick liquid, only to find them slick with blood. He tries to smear it away with the back of his palm, but it’s flowing too rapidly.

Gerard nervously stumbles out of the Boat, nearly falling out of his seat and onto the paved parking lot of the MIU entryway of the hospital. He attempts to regain his composure, trying to play his blunder off cool by running his bloodied hand slickly through his hair. Ray’s mother just shoots him a considering look, making his beat red face glow even brighter in the dimmed lamplights. He refuses to make any more eye-contact with her out of precipitous fear she’ll see straight through his black soul, into his deepest, darkest thoughts.

Despite these dark thoughts, Gerard’s mood is significantly lighter than it was hours ago. The nap he fell into during the car ride seemed to somehow pull him out of the depression he sank into, at least momentarily. He doesn’t particularly _want_ to have doctors probing at him and his life, but he can’t bring himself to completely loath the idea. After all, he is safe for now with his friends and Ray’s snappy yet kindheartedly vivacious mother. He can cope with a little bit of interrogating.

That’s his mindset, at least, as he petulantly waits in the minor-injuries unit of the nearest hospital. But as soon as he’s taken in by a nurse, his initial semi-positive attitude is smothered by the overpowering feeling of mortification. He internally screams in agony and pure embarrassment as he’s forced to strip of everything— _everything—_ in front of the dark-skinned male nurse who happens to be _omigod so hot_. Damn teenage hormones. Gerard only hopes the man doesn’t swing his own way- that would only intensify the awkwardness.

“Gerard, we really need you to take everything off,” he says softly when Gerard hesitates at his boxers. Why the fuck did they need to see his schlong dongadoodle, anyway?

“Gerard, I need to check you everywhere.” Oh God, maybe the nurse _is_ fruity. Out of all people to be his nurse, it has to be a sexy Hispanic gay guy? Gerard curses his oh-so-terrible luck.

“Gerard—"

“Fine, you perv!” he exclaims as he quickly slides down his boxers while squeezing his eyes shut firmly.

“Kid, I was trying to be the nice, good nurse, but I am going through a divorce and my cat ran away from home and my great-uncle just died, so why don’t you shutthefuckup,” the nurse says. “I am just doing my job.”

Ignoring the frustrated nurse that probably just broke, like, umpteen hospital rules, Gerard just stands completely still while being examined for God only knows what. Seriously, it is completely unjustified, the amount of skin he is being forced to reveal. The nurse, though, quickly finishes and throws Gerard a thin hospital gown, apparently too fed up with him to properly hand it to him like a normal adult. Being the uncoordinated klutz he is, Gerard reaches up to catch it only to have it hit him square in the face. “Ouch,” he mutters.

“Put that on and follow me,” the feisty nurse demands.

Gerard complies just because he’s suddenly weary and wants to sleep in a real bed through the Toro’s hotel reservations. He quickly slips the gown on and trails behind the older man into a blindingly bright room that painfully adds to his already pounding headache. He’s forced onto a plush, squishy table when a woman walks in, also dressed too brightly.

“Mr. Way?” she says with an obligatory business smile, perfected through years of working with assurance-seeking patients. “My name is Doctor Lotions.” Who the fuck had the last name _Lotions_? “You can just call me Kaylee if you want. Everyone does, actually. Do you mind if I take a closer look at your injuries?”

Gerard eyes Hot Hispanic evocatively. “As long as you don’t make me show you my dick,” he says, still staring down the persistent nurse.

Lotion just smiles gently and Gerard is probed at some more. He again closes his eyes and waits for it to stop.

“My, oh, my,” she mumbles after a less-invasive studying. “You have some serious bruising and bleeding going on, Mr. Way. There’s the chance you’re also suffering from some sort of head injury by the looks of that bump on your head and your consonant bleeding. We’ll check that out in a bit. For now, let’s discuss what exactly happened to you, hmm?”

Gerard freezes. His annoyance is replaced by dread and fear. No way is he about to give away his secrets. He rakes his mind for any excuse, but he finds it to be cobweb filled, so he’s left staring at the wall behind the lady. But that hurts his eyes, so he closes them. But that brings him images of Butch hovering over him, so he opens them again. An aching head is better than a grimy Butch.

“Mr. Way?”

The irritation re-appears suddenly. Just hearing her nasally, professional voice makes him want to lash out. “Listen, Lotions—”

“I said call me Kaylee.”

“Well then I say call me Gerard. I am not a mister.”

“Fair enough, _Gerard_.” She adds too much mocking emphasis to it. “Tell us what happened.”

“I don’t really wanna talk to you about this. Can I just go home?”

She sighs morosely. That makes two of them. “Not until we’re finished running tests on you. And then we are going to bring in our in-house psychologist to have a short talk with you—”

“No!” Gerard interrupts again, tears threatening to pour out of his eyes already. “Please… no.”

“No one asked you if you wanted to.” Hot Hispanic shoots him a glare.

“LaGuerta, you’re not helping.”

 _Seriously!_ Gerard thinks.

“We also need to get ahold of your intermediate family. Mrs. Toro is your friend’s mom, correct? She says you and your brother are staying with the family for four days? Is this correct?”

“Obviously.”

“No need to get snappy with me, Gerard. I am only trying to help.” Gerard hardly believes this. This Lotions lady- _Kaylee_ \- only wants to do her job that she gets paid for. There is no compassion in her actions, only guaranteed greed and rich green dollar bills. “You know what,” she continues, “I’ll save myself the time and let Dr. Watkins do the questioning. Why don’t we begin on those tests, LaGuerta?”

Gerard is involuntarily pushed through test after test, never getting a tangible explanation as to what the results will mean for him.   He feels needles poking into his sensitive skin and x-ray machines circling his body and even a few eye tests, but he isn’t really present. He’s in his far away in his own twisted world, thinking of how tired he is, of the mess he’s made out of his life. What is going to happen to him and Mikey once their mother is called by the hospital? Will she demand them to immediately come home to receive the wrath of Butch? He honestly can’t say, but suddenly the idea of staying in NYC with his friends is a terrible one- even more so than before. He should’ve been shrewd enough to come to that conclusion before. He should’ve been wise enough to reject Mikey the second he proposed their sweet-escape. Shoulda, coulda, woulda. It doesn’t matter. He done fucked up, and now he’s going to pay for it.

The dreadful feeling quickly comes pouring in on him like wet cement. He feels it surround his skin, seep down his spine, his very being freezing and crumbling in large chunks. His mood fluctuates from indifference towards the situation to absolute trepidation as his stomach settles in an uneasy state. He feels almost as if he’s going to hurl. Nope, he’s definitely going to hurl. With his stomach being empty, he only dry heaves, the rancid taste of stomach acid tainting his arid mouth.

Gerard isn’t given time to react, though. He’s immediately rushed to a large, scary looking machine where he’s told by LaGuerta to lay down on the hard plastic of its examination table. “Wait- what for?” Gerard asks, panicking and confused. The whole situation hurts his head a little more as he tries to comprehend what’s going on.

“It’s called a computed tomography scan. CT scan for short. Allows us to see inside your head.” This sends him in more panics. See inside his head… as in his _thoughts_?

 _No, stupid_ _,_ something in the back of his mind tells him. _It’s a fancy x-ray. Quit overreacting._

LaGuerta pushes him down on the table, straight on his back. Gerard tries to protest and squirm, but soon he finds heavy straps draped over his chest, keeping him tight in place. “Keep still, kid.” LaGuerta rolls his chocolate eyes as he makes his way out of the room. “Motion will make the images blur, so unless you want us to sedate you like we do for the five-year-olds, cooperate and don’t move.”

This keeps him still until the table begins to shift and he realizes he’s being lead into an extremely small tunnel. “Good God, kid!” he hears through some sort of speaker built into the machine. “Move another muscle and I’ll personally knock you out.” Again, he stills, closing his eyes in attempt to evict his location from his mind. He instead imagines he’s in a tanning booth. Only, he doesn’t particularly want to be tan. But any distraction is a good distraction, and before he knows it, the scan is done and the nurse is unstrapping him.

He springs off the table only to be knocked back by a surge of swaying and nausea. The room before him blurs and tiny black dots skirt the edges of his vision, giving the world a splotchy appearance. He realizes his neck is very stiff, almost so much that he can’t move it.

“Holy shit, Gerard,” LaGuerta says as Gerard wobbles, the room shifting around him. “Let’s get you back in the other room. You can lay down in there.”

Gerard hopes this will be the end of his torture, but as soon as he’s comfortable on the squishy table of the other room (or as comfortable as one can get laying on a cold, sinking probing table), the “in-house psychologist” arrives and his hope evaporates from his soul.  He can almost see the condensation produced by his crushed, last hope.

“Hello, Mr. Way—”

“Gerard. It’s fucking Gerard.”

“Ah, yes. Gerard. I am Dr. Watkins. I work with patients here and—”

“Cut the crap and formal introductory. What do you want?”

Dr. Watkins clearly tries to keep his composure by coarsely smiling, but Gerard sees a slight wave of irritation cross through his eyes. Gerard doesn’t allow himself to feel even a tad remorseful after the hell he’s been through this night.

“I have a few questions for you, while we’re waiting for the CT results. First, how are you feeling right now?”

“Like a ginormous avalanche stormed my body with heavy, pointy boulders.”

The doctor frowns sympathetically. “How about mentally, Gerard?”

Gerard thinks about his honest answer, but thinking only clouds his mind more. “Confused,” he admits. “Tired. Bored. _Defeated_.” His heart stutters at that last part; he can’t have the doctors knowing any of the important parts of his story.

But the doctor doesn’t press, only scribbles something down on a clipboard and looks back up at him. “Do you ever have any negative thoughts or feelings? Any anxiety, depression, or thoughts of suicide?”

Yes. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I said yes!” he warily deflects.

“What’s your home life like?”

Shit. Gerard gulps and tries to keep a straight face. “Uneventful. My mom works so she’s not home much. It’s mostly just me and my little brother Mikey home.”

“Does this upset you?”

Damn the persistent, analytical son of a bitch. “No. I like Mikey.”

“What about your father, Gerard? Tell me about him.”

“That’s none of your damn business.” No way is he about to tell this asshole stranger anything about his father. That’s personal biz. “I know you’re gonna keep asking about him, but spare yourself the time.”

Watkins doesn’t falter. “There’s no need to make this difficult. But… alright. So how did you get all these injuries? It must’ve been pretty horrific to cause all that damage, huh?”

Gerard makes up some stupid white lie and continues to do so until Lotions comes back and dismisses Watkins. All in due time. With Lotions is Mrs. Toro. Gerard doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or flustered. Her presence can mean a number of things: news that nothing’s wrong and that he can leave, or news that his injuries are fatal and he’s going to have a seriously strong seizure in the next five minutes, resulting in instantaneous death. He finds himself more lenient to the latter explanation.

Mrs. Toro rushes over to the table he’s on, grabbing his hand gently and asking how he feels. “Fine,” he lies yet again.

“Have a seat, Mrs. Toro.” The doctor motions towards a seat next to his table. “We tried to get ahold of Gerard’s mother, but she isn’t picking up. We’re really not supposed to discuss injuries with non-intermediate adults, but considering you’re his current guardian, we’ll let this one slide. Just keep your lips sealed.” She smiles slyly, sending shivers up his spine.

“It seems,” she goes on, “that Mr. Way—”

“Goddammit, it’s G-E-R-A-R-D.”

“… Gerard. It seems that Gerard is suffering from some major external bleeding and bruising from the head and body—”

“Wow!” Gerard can’t help himself. “She has eyes!”

“Gerard, hun,” Mrs. Toro says gently, placing a steady palm on his shaking arm.

The doctor continues as if she hasn’t been interrupted by an angst-filled teenager, “By closely assessing his wounds and injuries, we found major bruising behind his ears and around his eyes.” She points the supposed bruises out to a nodding Mrs. Toro. “Gerard has also been suffering from what he described as a stiff neck, drowsiness, a severe headache, vomiting, nose and ear fluid leakage—”

“Please just tell me what the hell is wrong with him,” Mrs. Toro surprises everyone by saying peevishly.

The doctor is taken aback, but she quickly recovers by adding, “Yes, of course. Just thought you might want to know the details. Anyway, after studying his CT scans,” she motions towards an x-ray image of his skull, “we found that he does, indeed, have a serious head injury **.** Basilar skull fracture, to be specific. This is extremely rare and a severe fracture, occurring at the base of his skull where his brain is supported and involving the temporal bone. To put it simply, Gerard has a broken skull. Luckily, the depression in his skull isn’t quite as deep as they sometimes come, so treatment will only require antibiotics, lots of rest, and regular doctor checkups. It’ll be a painful process, unfortunately, but not a fatal one. Gerard is extremely blessed to not require surgery.”

Gerard cringes marginally. Basically, he’s going to suffer and feel like shit, but he’s not going to die. The news couldn’t be more heartbreaking. Or at least that’s what he tells himself.

But then Lotions is back to talking, looking faintly nervous and eyeing Gerard in a way he can’t quite describe. “We are also concerned about Gerard’s mental state,” she half-whispers to Mrs. Toro.   “We almost have reason to suspect he suffers from bipolar disorder. Gerard, do you ever feel your mood shifting almost like a rollercoaster?”

Suddenly, he’s back to his usual scared self, which only makes him more frightened. He just swung from annoyed and disappointed to fearful and extremely dreadful. Some might describe that as being bipolar.

“I- I wanna go home,” is all he manages to stutter out.

The doctor smiles knowingly, the first hint of comfort she’s offered all night- er, morning. “Of course you do. I’ll talk to Mrs. Toro about the going-home procedure and prescribe the medications. Oh, and try to get ahold of your mother again. In the meantime, why don’t you take it easy and see your friends in the lobby. They seem very concerned for your wellbeing. Be careful, though.  You’re not really supposed to leave this room yet.”

Gerard readily agrees, slowly making his way to his friends. Upon seeing him, they all run up to him, hooting and smiling.

“You’re alive!”

“Man, you look bad!”

“What happened to you?”

Gerard scratches his stiff neck. “Broke my skull, I guess.”

All is silent as every boy thinks of how hard Butch had to have kicked in order to break a hard-ass skull. Only Bob is brave enough to speak. “Holy shit! To think a few hours ago we were fighting over waffles while your fucking head was broken! Just… holy shit!”

Shrugging, Gerard collapses in a plush floral-printed chair, rubbing his bruised eyes wearily with tight fists. Ray sits on one side of him, gently rubbing three fingers along his shoulder blade while Mikey sits on his other side and takes his hand in both of his. The small acts of comfort aren’t much, but somehow they’re just enough.

But something’s off. And then it hits him in a way that makes him feel dumb not thinking of it before. “Where’s Frankie?”

“Outside in the freezing-as-hell entryway, smoking.”

Mikey says, “Hell isn’t freezing” at the same time as Bob says, “Smoking in front of a hospital! How ironic!”

Gerard instantly moves to go find Frank but is stopped by Mikey’s iron-grip on his forearm. “Ouch, Mikey. Dammit, let off some, would you?”

He doesn’t loosen his grip, only shoots Gerard a stern look. “Dude, you have some serious fucking injuries. You’re not going outside without even your coat on. You need to rest and like, avoid physical activity. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do for that kind of stuff?” he asks Ray.

“Indeed, it is.”

“See? Ray knows his shit. Sit down.” He looks around uncertainly and adds, “Now.”

But Gerard is tenacious and determined. He knows Mikey’s every weakness, which is why Mikey immediately releases him when he pokes him square in the belly-button. He quickly runs off before Mikey can further protest.

It’s not hard to find Frank. He is standing directly in front of the “No Smoking” sign planted by the automatic doors of the hospital entrance. Frank, however, doesn’t see Gerard creeping up on him. When Gerard lays a hand on the shorter boy’s shoulder, he jumps a mile high and lets out a small shriek.

“Oh, God, Gerard,” he breathes after taking a moment to recover. “You can’t do that to people.”

Gerard thinks he’s overreacting for being touched on his shoulder, but he keeps those thoughts in, instead muttering a small apology.

“No, G. It’s all cool. I am presuming you’re not too hurt since you’re out here with me?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a head injury sort of thing.”

“You say that as if it’s a scraped knee or a toothache. Dude, that sounds pretty damn serious.”

Gerard only awkwardly shrugs, unsure of how to respond to that.

When Frank offers him his cigarette, he hesitates for only a moment before accepting and taking a choking drag. If Frank smokes, Gerard can hardly deny himself a smoke. Frank approves, so Gerard approves. It’s as simple as that. Though Gerard never really wanted to smoke before in his life…

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, G?”

Gerard looks down at Frank’s silhouetted figure, the moonlight and lamplights casting strange, ominous shadows across his body. He always looks too old for his age. Gerard honestly believes he could pass for nineteen or twenty if it wasn’t for his short build. But that just confuses him with an irrefutable urge to wrap the boy up in his arms and never let go. He could soak up all of Frank’s confidence and affability and see how it feels to utilize those perks himself. He can only imagine how good it must feel to be in Frank’s position.

Gerard realizes he’s been staring too long. “Uh, um… Just about how, uh…” Great. Tongue-twisted at the worst fucking time possible.

Frank, though, just smiles and plucks his smoke from Gerard’s pursed lips. “It’s cold out here, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them move to go back inside the toasty hospital.

“I like your gloves,” Gerard randomly compliments.

Frank studies the _Nightmare Before Christmas_ gloves as if he’s just now seeing them. “Me, too. It’s one of my favorite movies.”

A gush of cold wind strings itself through the barren trees and their desolate branches. The chill disturbs some nearby wind chime, sending an eerie yet melodic mixture of metal clashing to the night air. Flurries begin to slowly make their way from the New York sky, gathering in small drifts at the corner of the building. The night is beautiful, yet the silence growing between Gerard and Frank is so blindingly plain that all the splendor of the perfect atmosphere is unseen.

“It’s seriously fucking cold,” Frank repeats after a while.

Gerard lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, clouding the air before his face. “We should probably go inside.”

They don’t even twitch an eye towards the entrance.

“Frank…”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“How do you do it? How are you so confident?”

Frank groans, not trying to suppress it any. “You ask me this every time you see me, G. I… it just happens. I don’t give a fuck about what other people think. They respect that from me and that’s all that matters, okay? Just stop asking me that. Why do you always wanna know?”

Gerard looks away shyly. “I just hate being… _me.”_ Salty tears fight to make an appearance. He looks up at the starry sky to flood them in his eyes, hoping they won’t come pouring down.

“Gerard…” And then he’s pulled into Frank’s arms. He’s surprised, but not too much so to return the hug. He quickly wraps his arms around Frank’s upper body, resting his chin by Frank’s neck and nuzzling into the cool, exposed skin. He feels the younger boy’s gloved fingers press hard into his back, and for a second, he thinks he hears Frank crying. But just as soon as he thinks he hears it, it’s gone. Gerard can only assume it is his imagination; Frank is too tough, too cool to cry. And besides… what is there to cry about right now, anyway? “Gerard,” Frank says again. “If only you knew.”

This has to be his imagination- has to be. But he risks his sanity and asks anyway: “If only I knew what?”

Frank, of course, doesn’t answer, just presses himself tighter against Gerard, his chest rattling a bit. They stay like that, holding each other, until Mrs. Toro’s enraged voice can be heard saying, “Get the eff inside before you freeze your asses off!” That quickly breaks them apart. Gerard just barely catches a glimpse of cold wetness on Frank’s cheeks before Frank swiftly swipes his hand over his eyes and catches all the tears. Before Gerard can ask what’s wrong, Frank is inside the snug hospital entryway, leaving Gerard in the sub-zero weather, wondering why the hell his life is so damn incomplete and perplexing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I did do my fair share of research to keep this chapter as accurate as possible, it is still prone to be slightly unrealistic. It was quite hard finding treatment methods on Basilar skull fractures due to the rarity of this kind of head injury, so I used my "writer's liberty," if you'll call it, to create a less jargony and more story-ish method of treatment. If you are more knowledgeable on this topic and realize that something isn't quite accurate, well G is just a special snowflake, okay? After all, every snowflake's different just like you...
> 
> Also, my beta informed me that if you take this entire chapter out of context, it is really just describing rape.


	5. Chapter 5

The hospital finally gets Gerard and Mikey’s mother on the phone. Both boys hold their breath in anticipation, but they don’t ever get a chance to talk to her. They’re told she’ll be picking them up in the morning so that Gerard can rest peacefully at home. Gerard hardly believes that _rest_ , _peacefully_ , and _home_ belong in the same sentence. Most likely, his only sleep will come from Butch knocking him out after another needless beating.

For the next few hours, while everyone else is sleeping, Gerard hums an _Iron Maiden_ song inaudibly. He wishes he could go to Ray’s car and get his Walkman, because there’s no better way to forget the world than to hear the pounding of drums and the screaming of guitar chords, all in a perfect, melodic mixture. But he has to settle for imagining the music he has memorized by heart. It’s less effective but still a way to keep his mind occupied.

“Gerard?” someone whispers from his left. He gently turns his head as to not further upset his already aching brain. He meets Frank’s smiling gaze.

“Yeah?” Gerard smiles back.

“You have a pretty hum.”

Gerard blushes, self-conscious knowing that he let himself get loud enough for Frank to hear. “Th-thanks. It’s _Iron Maiden_.”

“Duh. So I know you’re into singing and all, but have you ever considered doing anything with it in when you get older?”

Gerard’s taken aback by Frank’s ostensible interest in his future. It warms his heart slightly, sending tiny sparks of pleasure throughout various points in his body. “I’ve never really thought about what I’ll do when I get older, actually.” It is no lie; honestly, Gerard is sure Butch will kill him before he reaches eighteen, but he doesn’t tell Frank that for obvious reasons. “Maybe. Or maybe something with comic books and drawing. I don’t know.”

Frank only hums in response, moving to stare up at the hotel ceiling. Gerard waits for him to say something, but he doesn’t. Trying not to allow himself to be too embarrassed that what he said didn’t warrant a reply, Gerard rolls on his side and settles for guiltlessly observing Frank in his ceiling showdown. _It’s not weird,_ he frequently tells himself. But it totally is weird, and he’s not even fooling himself.

Just as he begins to finally drift off, Frank says clearly, “We should start a band.”

This causes Gerard’s eyes to instantly crack open. He struggles to sit up so he’s able to look closer at the younger boy. “What?”

“I said we should—”

“I heard what you said. Just… what?”

Frank finally graces Gerard by meeting his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but lingers for a moment’s time. His eyes still stare into Gerard’s, but they seem distant, as if he’s pondering a complex thought or something deep and shit like that. Suddenly, he snaps back into reality and speaks with confidence, “Think about it: you as lead singer, Ray on the guitar ‘cause he’s a devil on the thing, Bob can… I guess Bob can play drums or something since he likes to bang around and clatter on things. I could be Ray’s backup guitarist, like rhythm and stuff. And Mikey can… manage the band, maybe? I don’t know.”

Gerard pictures the band in his head: performing in front of thousands, hearing the roar of an adoring crowd, his heart aching to sing. The mental image excites him, but that’s all it is. An image, a fantasy. He knows, for so many reasons, that they’d never form a band.

“That sounds awesome and all, but… I don’t even own a microphone.” The excuse is most likely the dumbest thing ever to escape Gerard’s mouth, but what else is he supposed to say?

Frank just snorts. “You don’t need a micro—”

“Yes, you do!”

“Fine.” Frank gives him a look, suggesting he sees through Gerard’s desperation as clear as glass. “Let’s say I buy you one. Then what?”

“I don’t like it when people buy me things.”

This time, Frank’s voice is strained, obviously a result of him being frustrated. “I found one lying miraculously on the street and gave it to you.”

“If it was lying on the street, it most likely damaged and unusable.”

Franks flips him the bird but softly laughs anyway. “You’re so fucking annoying sometimes, you know that?”

Gerard gives Frank a taste of his own medicine by returning the gesture and holds in his response. But unlike Frank, he can’t remain silent for so long, so he replies, “Yeah, I know.” He desperately searches his mind for something else, anything else to say, but finds his brain files are dusty, empty, and quite frankly, bleak. Being with Frank always feels right… yet it’s difficult for him to find a connection during conversations at moments like these. He wants nothing more than for Frank to approve of what he’s saying and laugh at his jokes and actually be _interested_ in him. Though Gerard feels they have a strong friendship bond, one where they hardly even have to speak to commute feelings and ideas, he wants more than that. His desire to be physically close to Frank like he’s never been with anyone before grows by the second. Just hearing his voice, even if it’s not addressed to him, makes him want to fall into his arms hopelessly and stay there forever.

Frank makes it no secret that he swings more of the way on the men’s side, but he doesn’t throw it around, either. It’s as if the fact that he’s gay is no more extravagant than the common knowledge that dirt is brown or that fish live in the water. Ray, who’s known him since they were in grade school together, once explained to Gerard that he’s always been out with his sexuality, but not in-your-face about it. Ray also told him that he is a bit of a man-whore, but Gerard chooses to disregard that particular bit of information. He hardly sees Frank as someone prone to sleep around. No, he imagines that Frank is a romantic, one who yearns for a steady, serious relationship. Gerard is more than willing to give Frank that relationship.

It’s not just because Frank is extremely good-looking and sweet and confident. Gerard wants to give back for what Frank’s given him. Ever since they met on that summer day years ago, Gerard has felt the tiniest bit of a reason to keep living. Frank lets him sometimes forget about his troubles at home and the constant dreadful feeling pulling at his insides. Though they hardly know anything about each other’s home lives, Gerard feels they understand each other completely.

“G… You awake, man?”

Shit. Damn him for being so creepy and not able to hold a proper conversation like any normal teenager. “Yeah,” he repentantly says. “Yeah, I’m awake. Just thinking…”

“About…?”

 _You._ Yeah, right.  “Nothing. What are you thinking about?” _Yes, turn the conversation around. That’ll patch things right up_.

Frank luckily doesn’t push Gerard’s obvious dodge of his question and answers, “I’m thinking that I want to rule the world, command everyone to follow my rules, you know, all that shit.”

Gerard scrunches his face. “So… you want to create a universal dictatorship?”

Frank laughs, but says, “Yeah. One of those. But not like how you’re thinking.” He wrinkles his nose a bit, a habit he shows when he’s thinking hard. “I think we’re raised close-minded, you know? America’s all like, democracy this, democracy that, ‘We the people,’ but I don’t think a dictatorship and a tyranny necessarily have to coexist. I mean, look at Cuba- no, hear me out!” he demands when Gerard appoints his crumpled face at him, “Just hear me out. Cuba has the whole Castro regime shenanigan going on, right? And we’re like, No! a dictatorship! Castro must die! But, look at Cuba as a country. Underdeveloped, sure, but we can blame that on the embargo. But look at the actual citizens- they’re happy, G. A good majority of them like the Castro family, and they’re happy. That’s more to say than a lot of American citizens. Ah, I’m blabbering. I- sorry, I’ll stop.”

“No! Go on,” Gerard pants, a little too much panic in his voice.

Frank eyes him suspiciously but complies, anyway. “I just think I could make a lot of people happy. I want to rule the world and give people things to make them happy. Stuff like that. I know, I know, it’s impossible to feed a whole world pleasure and happiness and it’s not like anyone would follow me anyway, but—”

“I’d follow you.” Gerard says this with only truth and honesty filling his voice.

“I know.” Frank nods without even taking a second to consider whether or not Gerard speaks actualities. Gerard reddens, wishing he could wash away his dependence on Frank, swish it down the drain like strings of blood. It’s like he wears a giant neon sign over his head that flashes “I Worship Frank Iero!” Gerard stupidly checks above him to make sure there’s no sign. And then he mentally beats himself to death for being such a fucking idiot.

“I- I’m just saying, I think you’d be a good leader, that’s all,” Gerard covers. “I think you’d make people happy. You make me happy.”

Frank just nods again. “I know.”

Gerard feels the tears pricking at the edges of his eyes and wills for them to go away. Despite the waves of darkness washing over the room, he’s sure that Frank will see him cry, if not, hear him.

But then Frank adds so quietly Gerard isn’t sure if his brain is just making it up to try and comfort him, “I want to make you happy.”

Gerard’s heart flutters at the thought. He once again attempts to sit up, but when he speaks Frank’s name, he doesn’t get a reply. He tries again, louder this time, but still, no response. One last time at practically shouting Frank’s name gains him a lethargic punch in the arm from Mikey and the feelings of disappointment, sorrow, anger, and longing. But mostly just disappointment.

He convinces himself as he closes his eyes that it was his brain tricking him after all.

***

Their mom arrives in New York at approximately ten in the morning, her fake blonde hairdo rather flat today. She doesn’t utter a single word to the shuddering brothers, doesn’t even pass them a brief glance. She just mutters a thanks to Mrs. Toro after she finishes explaining what pills Gerard needs to be taking and what he can and can’t do physically for the next few weeks.

After they say their final goodbyes to their friends, they find themselves walking in the rime-filled outside air towards Mrs. Way’s vehicle. Mikey’s icy hand finds Gerard’s, and Gerard does his best to provide a small bit of comfort for his little brother. It’s the very least he can do for pulling Mikey into his mess.

On the drive back, Donna Way doesn’t turn on the car heater. Mikey shivers next to Gerard, their frosted huffs mingling together before their eyes. Mrs. Way speaks only once, asking Mikey whether she should turn left or go straight at a stop sign. The rest of the ride is awkward and covered in unspoken words.

Two hours later, they pull into their home’s empty driveway. Gerard can feel both his and Mikey’s relief. No Butch for now.

Gerard’s room is exactly how he left it: bloody and unclean. The stupid spaceman comforter splattered crimson, the walls blotched with red handprints and streaks, the spaceship lamp broken and unused. Really, Gerard thinks the bedroom belongs in a violent horror film, not in the possession of a seventeen-year-old.

Oddly, he finds himself slightly comforted by the familiarity of his own torture room. The conversant, lingering smell of culpability fighting against innocence sends a sort of calming serenity to Gerard’s fuck of a brain. He can’t help but to smile a little at what the room represents. Really, it’s just his own prison cell, one he can’t ever escape from, but one he doesn’t particularly want to escape from after a while of being strictly limited to its premises. The world is ugly; Gerard knows this now. He knows he lives in his own distorted little world that before, he didn’t think he belonged in, he didn’t think he deserved. But he knows now that he, too, is ugly. He deserves nothing more or less than what he’s given.

He’s startled by a hand on his shoulder. Doing a one-eighty, he spots his mom staring indolently at him.

“Mama?” he whispers hopelessly. Maybe, just maybe the slightest gleam in her eye signals her guilt after watching Gerard get beaten all these years and doing nothing about it, encouraging it, even. Maybe she’s come to comfort her son, tell him she’s sorry, tell him she doesn’t think he’s as worthless as she’s previously let on. Maybe she just wants to hug him.

“Your medications,” is all she says, shoving a bag of a couple different prescriptions in his arm hastily.

Mistaking her hand still on his shoulder as a sign of affection, an invite, almost, Gerard tosses the bag aside and moves in to hug his mom. He gently wraps his arms around her hollow shoulders, but it’s in vain because she steps away hurriedly. She doesn’t look his way as she leaves his room and shuts the door behind her.

Gerard doesn’t feel like crying so he settles himself on his bed and reaches into the medicine bag to read through instructions. “Take five-billion capsules every four hours for the rest of your life,” he reads. “Hmm.”

He notices the personal note that that Lotions person wrote him describing each pill and its dosage- two of the prescriptions are for the head injury, one just a painkiller he’s only supposed to use for absolute emergencies, and finally, one that’s labeled “lithium.” He reads over the doctor’s note on it, reads it again, and again, and again. Infuriated and terrified and humiliated feelings rousing through him all at once, he chucks the bottle at the wall opposite of him, angry, uninvited tears pouring out of his eyes. He doesn’t even hear the thud it makes as it collides with the plastered wall.

“She’s wrong!” he cries into his pillow. “Wrong- _wrong_!” Suddenly, a weight’s dipping into his bed, and he thinks it’s Butch to shut him up or something, but the soft hand running through his hair speaks otherwise.

“G?” Mikey murmurs. “Who’s wrong? What did Mom do? Stop crying for a second, come on, listen to me.”

Gerard looks up long enough to sputter out, “That goddamned doctor,” before collapsing into himself again. He hears Mikey rummaging through the medicine bag, beginning to catch on.

After a moment of what Gerard can only assume is Mikey examining the contents of the bag, Mikey mumbles, “Oh.” A second passes. “ _Oh_.” Mikey removes his hand from Gerard’s hair. “Do you think… Do you really… Ugh. Are you bipolar, G?”

“No!”

“Um,” Gerard lifts his head and sees Mikey scratching his collarbone unsurely, “it’s okay if you are, Gerard. Lithium can help with that, right? It’ll make you, uh, stable-er…”

“Mikey,” Gerard begs for his brother’s attention urgently in a soft voice, clawing at his arm. “Mikey, please, you gotta believe me, I am not sick! I’m not diseased and disgusting like that! Mikey, listen to me, do you hear me, I’m not bipolar!” The last word wavers in the air, his voice cracking adding unnecessary emphasis. He pleads with his watery eyes, urges his brother to understand, to agree with him, to tell him he doesn’t need any corrective fucking pills.

Mikey breaks eye contact and Gerard’s heart sinks. “Mikey… please.” His voice is now no more than a whisper.

Furiously rubbing at his collarbone, Mikey says under his breath, “Maybe it’s for the best to give it a try.”

“I hate you!” Gerard bellows, not even thinking about the repercussions. “I hate you, Mikey Way! You never cared about me. If you did you would stay by my side while Butch is beating the shit out of me and support me and fucking tell me I am not crazy and diseased! Just get away from me, Mikey, I _hate_ you!”

Mikey tries to pull Gerard into a hug, tries and fails. Gerard lashes out and struggles against the false affection; he knows it’s false because what he said is right- Mikey doesn’t care about him, not in the slightest.

“I said get away from me,” he whimpers pathetically.

But damn the younger Way brother for being so obstinate, damn him for seeming so compassionate, damn him for further confusing Gerard. He doesn’t resist this time when he feels lanky arms embrace him. He only closes his eyes and leans into the touch.

“Gerard, you don’t mean that,” whispers Mikey against his ear. His breath tickles Gerard, but he’s in no mood for giggling. “Gerard, we’re all each other has. When everyone else leaves us, we’re the only ones there for one another. You gotta know this, G, you gotta understand this. Freaking run it through your brain, commit it to memory, just remember this.”

Shaking his head briskly, Gerard slurs, “No. We have the boys. I have Frankie. We have each other, Mikes, but I have Frankie.”

But Mikey doesn’t back down easily. Damn, stubborn kid… “Gerard, the boys are great, but are they here with you now? Are they?”

“That’s unfair!” Gerard spits out in disgust. “You’re my brother- you have to be there. They would if they could. That’s not even their fault.”

“Exactly my point, big bro. I’ll always be there with you, even if it’s not necessarily by choice, but the boys don’t get that option. That’s aside the point though, Gerard, hun.” It feels weird to have his fifteen-year old brother call him hun, like he’s his mother. Not that his mother has called him that- not since years ago. “We have to stick together, that’s all I am saying. I love you, Gerard, I really do. And I am not saying the doctor’s right or that this bipolar shit is right, just that it can’t hurt to give the pills a try. Alright?”

Gerard sniffles and says nothing.

“Alright?”

Damn persistent kid… “Alright.”

Dinner that night is cold leftover something or another that Gerard just pokes at with his fork. Glancing over at Mikey, who is similarly squishing his food with a butter knife, Gerard thinks to make some sort of light conversation, anything to fill the deafening silence. But then he looks to his mom who rejected his hug and decides the quiet is for the best.

“Butch is on his way home,” she mutters as she takes her cleared plate to the sink. “Help in carry in some shit when he gets here.” Before either boy can argue or even question, she retreats to her bedroom and shuts the door.

Mikey looks at Gerard, panicky bug eyes mirroring his own. Neither brother knows what will happen when Butch comes home, but they don’t want to find out, either.

Gerard follows Mikey into his room where they hold hands silently and await for Butch’s arrival. When Gerard hears an ignition die and a door slam shut from just outside the house, he feels Mikey begin to tremble slightly. He gives him a reassuring squeeze.

“Gerard,” Mikey whispers as they make their way ominously to the front yard. “I don’t want him to hurt you. I… please don’t let him hurt you.”

Like Gerard always for it to happen. Like he says, “Hey Butch! Why don’t you come kick at my lungs until I can no longer breathe— why don’t you fucking _break my head_?” But he knows Mikey means best, so all he says in reply is, “Ok, Mikes.”

The first sight he catches of Butch is the graying brown fuzz covering a few bald patches on his rotund skull. Then his beefy arms and stocky build. Finally, the red, forever-present livid sneer smeared across his scrunched in face. It’s almost comical that the crumply bumps of his wrinkled complexion are contrasted by the smooth mockery he always wears. Almost is key.

Gerard suddenly feels limp and heavy, like his legs are made of jelly, yet his torso is overflowing with thick rocks, crushing down on the rest of him. He tries not to wobble too much for Mikey’s sake, but he can’t help but to run into the front door frame in attempt to go outside. Mikey immediately grabs his upper arm to steady him and it’s enough for now. Gingerly, he sets a foot on the pavement of the outside walkway. And then another. Another. He’s halfway to the pickup truck. A gust of cold, brisk air swishes across his exposed skin and unkempt hair. Butch looks over.

And says nothing. He just goes back to whatever he was doing before. Gerard catches the low groan he almost let out and stands idly for a moment, waiting, perhaps, for Butch to recognize him and bury him alive.

When Butch glances his way again, he says, “You two just gonna stand there, or are you gonna help me with this shit?”

Gerard feels Mikey lightly tug at the end of his shirt sleeve, urging him to move forward. Gerard obeys, walking mechanically, almost like a robot. He forgets how to breathe, how to function, as his hand brushes Butch’s while grabbing at a bag in the back of the pickup. He avoids all eye contact and hurriedly makes his way back to the house as soon as his arms are loaded to their full capacity.

The rest of the night, he isn’t bothered by his mom or her boyfriend. Mikey invites him to sleep in his room, which he accepts. He wakes up in the bright rays of the morning light tucked in Mikey’s gangly arms solicitously which sends surges of tenderness and affection throughout Gerard. It’s a good shift in feelings, to be honest.

Mikey doesn’t allow him to move from his bed for the next couple of days, insisting that he needs to rest his head or else it’ll bust open and spray blood everywhere. Unlikely, but not a bad image. Butch surprisingly leaves them alone. This should be relieving, but instead Gerard finds himself skeptical and fearful more than ever.

Butch should be pounding him into the ground right now. He should be throwing an enraged fit. After all, they did completely defy him and his rules by sneaking out. It must’ve been humiliating, to be mocked by two teenage boys, one of which he just bloodied to a pulp. Not that Gerard is commiserating. But instead, he’s minding his own business.

When Mrs. Way gets a phone call from the doctor’s office reminding her that Gerard has an appointment, Gerard has no choice but to be forced into the car with Butch. Mikey asserts that he, too, will come. This brings a small rush of reassurance to Gerard, but not enough to drive away the negativity pulsing through every inch of his body.

As they settle down in the cab of the truck, Mikey again clutches Gerard’s hand in his warm one. Gerard can’t help but to clamp down on it, enough to possibly cut the circulation off on his brother’s hand, but Mikey doesn’t seem to mind. He only snuggles close to Gerard in the tight, cold seats. They’re forced to separate, however, when Butch looks through the rearview and comments that Gerard’s gay might rub off on Mikey. Mikey still keeps a subtle pinky hooked through Gerard’s. It’s enough.

It’s slightly unsettling that Butch has made his first direct attack towards Gerard. His discerning remark brings back cold memories of years ago when Butch first started abusing Gerard. At the beginning, small notes on the things he disapproved of regarding Gerard. Then, bigger, much more threatening annotations. Which ultimately would lead to the physical abuse. Despite Gerard accepting the abuse on some days, other times he wants nothing to do with it. Thinking too much about it passes Gerard through a wave of nausea, so he instead thinks of one of his favorite _Queen_ songs, “Under Pressure.”

The truck drives through the bleak, gray streets of the Jersey city they live in, passing by towering, dull skyscrapers and even duller people. The cold air nips at the little skin they’re exposing. A playground sits despondently by itself in an open, treeless park, the swings jaggedly swaying and clunking against the iron bars of the set. Finally, the truck pulls into a small, pot-hole filled parking lot.

Gerard forgot his coat, so he runs inside as quickly as he can, Mikey following fast behind, stepping irritably on his heals more than once. Gerard shoots him a wary look that reads _back off_ before swiftly swapping it for an easy smile.

The doctor’s office offers as much warmth as a frost afflicted cave, Gerard thinks, but it’s better than being stuck in the wind-stricken outdoors. The appointment is really just for a quick check-up to make sure Gerard is healing properly and taking his medications. Butch doesn’t follow the brothers when Gerard’s name is called by a doctor; instead, he fiddles with his phone in the waiting room, which is perfectly fine as far as Gerard’s concerned.

“Mr. Way—” the doctor just begins.

“Gerard.”

The doctor smiles cordially. “Of course. Gerard. How have you been managing the pain? A broken skull is a very serious injury, as I am sure you’ve been told time and time again.”

“I have been,” Gerard replies solemnly. “The pain is fine. I just have headaches and dizziness and shit.” He doesn’t even think to correct his what some folks would consider “lewd” language. “Sometimes I get a little confused and hazy thoughts. Other than that, well, I guess I am alright.”

The doctor nods all while typing briskly into his laptop with unnecessary vigor. Honestly, did he hope to pound the fucking keys into the laptop and kill the damn thing? “Alright, Gerard. I know you’re not going to like this because no one ever does, but I am required to ask some more questions, alright?”

The way he announces his soon-to-be prying is different than most, more annoyed. Gerard can respect that. He gives a nonchalant wave of his hand to signal he’s ready.

“First things first,” the doctor begins, a serious expression replacing his before carefree one, “how is the lithium holding up for you? Assuming you’re taking it as directed, of course.”

Gerard swallows. He’s been taking it at Mikey’s urgings, but clandestinely only pretending to swallow it most times. In the past few days, he’s taken the pills maybe… twice? He hadn’t exactly lied about it- Mikey never asked if he truly took it. So really, he wasn’t being dishonest. Nope. Not in one bit. But he knows he can’t fib now, not right in front of his little brother who trusts him and helps him through all of his troubles even though he gets absolutely nothing out of it.

He just gives a minute shake of the head and a mumbled, “Haven’t been taking it.”

The doctor just nods again, as if he was expecting such an answer. _Probably was,_ Gerard tells himself. _He knows your type by now_.

“Gerard,” the doctor begins. Gerard is fully prepared to drown out the entire lecture, already concocting a topic in his mind to block out whatever this man has to say. Frank. He’ll think of Frank and his fantasies to rule the world… “Gerard, listen to me,” the doctor says, detecting Gerard’s plan to zone out rather acutely. Gerard is impressed. In school, his teachers never seem to notice his complete lack of even a two-minute attention span. The doctor continues, “I know it is hard to be told you’re suffering from a mental illness such as bipolar disorder—”

“A disease, you mean.”

“I’m sorry- a what?”

Lowering his eyes to the tiled floor below him, Gerard barely whispers, “I suffer from a disease. Not a mental illness or whatever other fancy, venerated names you give it. I’m disgusting, messed up, call it what you fucking want. But not a mental illness, please.” He’s on the verge of tears and it shows, but he still holds as strong as he can. If he dares walk back into the waiting room with tear-stained cheeks, Butch will surely beat him right then and there; forget the slow progression back toward the physical abuse.

The doctor sighs and shakes his head slightly. He lays a light hand on Gerard’s knee, causing him to flinch. He tries to play it off as disgust at an old-man doctor touching him, but it’s a little too obvious there’s a deeper message behind his cringing.

“You’re not diseased- it’s quite common for people to experience the same feelings as you, Gerard.” He seriously doubts that, but oh well. “With proper medications and even a little therapy, one can easily overcome their,” he pauses as he searches for the right word while waving his free hand in the air like a windmill, “problem. Personally, while growing up, I went to regular therapy sessions to get over my anxiety, and look what it got me!” He laughs, too loudly to be a pleasant laugh, gesturing to his entirety. “I have a great paying job, a loving wife, and three beautiful children. I’m living the American Dream! In fact, we’re even considering another…”

Now’s Gerard’s cue to begin his Frank thoughts, staring absently at Mikey’s boots and barely noticing the ranting of the oh-so-perfect life of Doctor Seamless. He wonders briefly if he’ll ask Frank to destroy this man’s family and friends or something when he becomes the world conqueror. He’s sure Frank will do it if asked. Especially after he heard just a minute of his vanity.

“Oh my,” Seamless “curses,” if you’ll call it, after umpteenth minutes of rambling. “My deepest sorrow. I never meant to go on so far.”

“S’okay,” Gerard mutters.

“Yes, well. Back to your condition. I can’t stress enough how important it is for you to take your pills, Gerard.” He looks over at Mikey, gravity daubed on his old, sickly face like butter spread on moldy bread. “I need you to help enforce this, okay?” Mikey nods quickly. “Good. I also want to appoint you to a certain non-profit therapist that can truly help you—”

“No!” Gerard’s expression flattens itself into a disconsolate array of decompressed fright and dread. “Please, no, I’ll take the pills, I’ll get better, just no therapy _please please please!_ ”

“Gerard, I can’t make you go to a therapist, but I can strongly advise it. It’s for your own good. Lindsey is such a great person and everyone always end up loving her. I just can’t stress enough how important this is for the healing process—”

Gerard is beginning to develop a knack for interrupting adults that pass their limits. “You’re only supposed to help with my skull- you did your job, so we’re leaving now. Come on, Mikey!” He grabs his brother roughly by the shoulder after hopping off the doctor’s table.

“Gerard—” Mikey protests.

The knack extends towards vexatious little brothers, apparently. “Let’s go.”

As soon as they arrive home and Gerard is able to shut himself in Mikey’s room and, as silent as he can, sobs into one of the pillows thrown across the bed. He tries to asphyxiate the noise reeling its way up his throat with the fabric of Mikey’s comforter.

He feels rather than sees the bed dip as Mikey climbs in next to him, not touching him or anything, just passing through it with Gerard. When he’s all cried out, he looks up at his brother, his own face assuredly red and splotchy, but Mikey acts as if nothing’s wrong at all. He instead sits wordlessly beside to Gerard, Indian-style, and pulls out a small business card from his pocket. Studying it, Gerard reads in his head, “Lindsey Ann Ballato, Physiatrist, Ballato Counselling Center,” as well as office hours, phone numbers, and an address, all arranged in a visually appealing fashion. Without thinking, Gerard feverishly rips the card into pieces and scatters them across the floor, burying his head back into the pillow. He feels Mikey roll off the bed and exit the room, slamming the door on his way out.

But after only a few minutes of sulking, Gerard hurries out of bed and collects the smithereens. With a roll of scotch tape found on Mikey’s bedside table, he attempts to piece the card back together until it’s eligible enough to read if he needs to.

Not that he is planning on going. It’s merely a matter of precaution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone gets offended by the way Gerard refers to having a bipolar disorder, I'd like to say that I do not agree with what he says about it and neither does he. He's just being stubborn.
> 
> Also, I'd _like_ to update more but there's this petty little thing they like to call "high school" that pretty much ruins your life plans, so that's that.
> 
> Thanks to all who've read and made it this far!!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait for an update- my focus has been mostly on my other two fics as of late. Plus I'm dealing with a lot of home drama/shit right now, so it's hard to write depressing stories for some reason. -_-
> 
> This chapter hasn't been beta-read yet, so if you catch any grammar mistakes/typos, do tell!

Come Christmas Eve, Gerard’s friends have returned from their vacation and are knocking at his door. Nobody stops him and Mikey when they follow Ray to his house to help “unpack.” In reality, they all know it’s to talk and play video games, but it’s nice to think it’s really for a good cause.

“Dude,” Bob breathes as he gawks at the graphics of _The Last of Us_.

They remain in a comfortable silence as Mikey takes out clicker after clicker. Eventually, though, Mrs. Toro announces from upstairs that Bob’s mom called saying he _must leave at once._ As he’s leaving, Frank takes Gerard to the side.

“Everything alright, G?” he asks quietly in the cramped space of the basement bathroom.

Gerard nods, telling him that there hasn’t been much trouble since he got back. “It’s so weird, Frankie,” he mumbles against Frank’s chest.

“I know, but that’s a good thing.” Frank runs his fingers through Gerard’s hair and sighs into his neck. Shivers run up Gerard’s spine, and he practically melts into Frank’s embrace.

“No,” Gerard whispers, tears already making tracks down his cheeks.

“Why would that not be a good thing?”

Gerard struggles to understand how to explain to Frank that his life has come to depend on regular abuse. Frank will be confused; he will think him crazy. So he simply does not answer.

Frank lets go of him and is about to move away, but Gerard stops him with a kiss.

He honestly doesn’t know what triggered his brain to do it, what moved his body forward to lock lips, but now he has his arms strung awkwardly around Frank’s shoulders and is trying to figure out how to move his mouth.

He pulls away only when he opens his eyes to see Frank staring wide-eyed back at him. He looks horrified. “Gerard,” he whispers in a mix of shock and something else he can’t place.

“I—” But that’s all Gerard can manage to squeak out. He pivots and grabs for the door handle, but is pulled back by Frank.

“No, you’re not going to have— holy shit— your _first kiss_ like that and then just walk away.” Frank jerks Gerard closer to him, causing him to flinch and cower. “Gerard, look at me.” He doesn’t. “ _Look_ at me.” Frank places a cold finger below Gerard’s chin and forces eye-contact. Gerard can’t help but to cry under his gaze. “Why did you do that?”

“I… I wanted to,” Gerard whimpers out through tears and silent sobs.

Frank wipes away the tears and brings his face closer. “Do you like me, Gerard?” he whispers, his breath mingling with Gerard’s strangled one.

“Of course I do.”

“No,” he shakes his head lightly. “Do you _like_ me?”

Gerard can’t stop himself. “I love you, Frankie.”

“Don’t say that… y-you don’t mean it.”

Gerard gapes at him in shock. “Of course I do, Frank. You’re so… so fearless and brave and—”

“I’m not!” Frank cries, causing them both to jump. “I’m none of that and I never have been. Gerard, you think I’m cool? You think people like me? Huh?” He’s shaking Gerard back and forth urgently. “Answer me!”

Gerard doesn’t know what to say, so he remains silent, searching Frank’s eyes for a hint of anything _other_ than hurt.

“Gerard, listen,” Frank says more calmly. “I’m not what you think I am. I’m no strong-willed kid with superpowers or whatever the fuck you want me to be. I get pushed around at school. I have no friends. I’m bullied, and I sleep with any guy that will pass me a second glance. I’m a lonely slut, Gerard, and you deserve so much better.”

But Gerard is shaking his head. This is all wrong. “No, Frank, no,” he speaks in denial. “You’re lying- people… they look up to you. _I_ look up to you. You’re perfect, Frankie, you’re—”

“Please, Gerard.” Frank is now crying, too, which scares Gerard almost as much as what he is admitting. “I’m so fucking far from it, and it kills me every time you say that. Gerard, I’m so unhappy with my life, and I know I can’t make you happy. You hardly even _know_ me, for fuck’s sake.”

That… stings. Gerard feels like he knows Frank like no other, that he understands him so well. “Frankie, stop doing this, just stop”

He is shut up by the lips on his own, and all of his previous thoughts melt from his brain, morphing into new, happier ones. He pushes himself hard against Frank, unsure of what he’s doing due to an utter lack of experience, but he moves in a way he thinks is natural.

He starts a little when he feels Frank’s warm tongue rub along his bottom lip, but he opens his mouth nonetheless, inviting it in. Gerard has no idea how much is too much when it comes to tonguing, but he slowly gets the hang of it by learning from Frank. He feels Frank’s hands slip up the back of his shirt, running over old bruises and scars, and the pain of it only fuels his hungry need for _more._

Frank moves them around, pushing Gerard up against the wall and nearly suffocating him as he throws his body against his. Gerard gasps at the sting it causes throughout his whole body, but once again, it’s just what he’s looking for. Frank moves to his neck, nipping and licking, and all Gerard can do is moan and try not to explode from the creeping sensations.

But it’s over too soon, with both the boys breathing against each other, trying not to collapse in giddy, overworked feelings.

“I _love_ you, Frank,” he says in his breathless voice. “I love you so much.”

He can hear Frank struggle to gain enough air to gasp out, “I know. I’m so unhappy, Gerard. How can you love that?”

“You’re not unhappy,” Gerard blurts out desperately. “Some people are just… just evil and make you _think_ that.”

Frank only laughs pathetically against his cheek. “Sometimes,” he murmurs unemotionally, his lips grazing Gerard’s jaw, “the worst of evils are the evils from within.”

 

***

 

“Why are you so sad, G?” Mikey asks as he rubs his brother’s shoulders on his bed.

Gerard shakes his head. Nothing is right; nothing will ever _be_ right.

Frank isn’t happy.

“Mikes,” Gerard mumbles, collapsing on the bed in a heap of limbs. “Have you ever been so obsessed with something, only to realize you were really obsessed with the _idea_ of it rather than the actual thing?”

Mikey moved to lay by Gerard, resting his head on his chest and bunching up the fabric of his shirt. “Yeah. Remember how I always wanted glasses because I thought they were the shit?” Gerard nods knowingly against the bed sheets. “Yeah, well… turns out they aren’t the shit.” He pushes them up on his nose and sighs heavily. “Why?’

Gerard doesn’t know if he can tell Mikey. He feels bad for keeping his first kiss a secret, but he feels even worse knowing that Frank might not be… who he is supposed to be, who he’s _always_ been.

“I…” he groans, defeated. “I kissed Frank.”

Mikey instantly shoots up, and Gerard cringes while closing his eyes, all too aware of what is to come.

“You _what?”_ Mikey asks, nudging Gerard’s face with his hand. “Kissed _Frank_?”

“Quiet, Mikey- mom or Butch might hear.”

“When?” Mikey questions, his voice a tad quieter.

“This morning at Ray’s.”

Mikey doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Gerard is thankful for that. He rubs his eyes wearily and rolls over on the bed, fatigued.

“Gerard…” Here it goes. “That… that’s great, but…” _But it’s not_. “I mean, I’m happy for you, but are you sure?”

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation.

But the more he thinks about it, the less sure he is. Frank is— _used to be—_ his only escape from Butch. He had always thought that while he himself was too weak to stand up to Butch, Frank could beat the shit out of him. Now, he’s not so sure. If Frank is bullied and… _unhappy_ , would he really have the strength to help Gerard?

Frank’s lack of confidence melts away Gerard’s motivation to even exist, in a way. Where will his only escape from Butch be? Surely, that can’t be Frank any more. He is so in love with the boy who can handle anything that the lack of this presence leaves him afraid, confused, and empty. Gerard tries not to think this way, but he honestly can’t help himself.

He realizes he may just not love Frank as much as he’s always come to think.

“You’re not sure, are you?” Mikey whispers, grabbing Gerard’s hand. “He’s not what you thought he’d be.”

And that’s when the tears start. Gerard feels so tangled up in something he doesn’t understand, and he can’t control himself. Mikey sits next to him and runs his hands through Gerard’s greasy hair, telling him to shush before Butch hears. Eventually, he lies down next to Gerard and wraps his arms around his shoulders, begging Gerard to quiet down.

Someone does come into Mikey’s room, but it’s not Butch. “Will you shut the hell up?” he hears his mother hiss. “I have a headache and don’t need your bitchin’ and mopin’ added to it.” This hushes him a bit, but he still snivels softly.

“Gerard,” Mikey says in a soothing voice when Gerard’s finally able to calm down. “Please, _please_ talk to me about it. I wanna help.”

And so Gerard does. He tries his best to put into words just how he feels about the whole situation, how kissing Frank _should_ solve everything-but it doesn’t. Mikey remains quiet for most of his speech, rubbing gentle circles into his shoulder blade. He shushes Gerard when he begins to sob again, the words “Please don’t cry” repeatedly escaping his mouth.

“Mikey, I’m so fucked up!” Gerard finally sputters out after an exceptionally loud rake of sobs. “How can anybody even _stand_ me- I’m so fucking messed up in the head and”

Before he can finish or Mikey can respond, their mother reappears. She doesn’t say a word, but she doesn’t have to; the sheer anger thickly coating her face says more than words ever could. She grabs Gerard by the wrist, yanking him to his feet, and slaps his face hard enough to make Gerard see stars. She slaps him again and again, then kicks him as he collapses in the floor, fresh tears flooding his eyes and trailing down his burning cheeks.

“I told you to shut the hell up!” she screams. “You want me to get Butch involved?” Gerard frantically shakes his head no. “I swear to fuckin’ God that man will beat your ass, give you a reason to cry.”

“No, Mama, please, no!” Gerard begs, shielding his face and trembling below his mother. “I’ll behave- I’ll be quiet! Just please, Mom…”

His mother grunts in response and stomps out the room, slamming the door behind her. As soon as she’s gone, Mikey rushes to his side and tries to wrap him up in a hug, but Gerard cowers away, whimpering softly. He doesn’t want Mikey’s comfort; he doesn’t _deserve_ it. He had this coming. That’s all he is good for- beatings and abuse and hatred.

“Gerard!” Mikey whispers, his own tears escaping from his eyes. “Please, G…”

All he can think, though, is that this is the first time he’s been beaten since before the trip. He forgot the angry, sorrow feelings the hurt always brought. He forgot how truly worthless he felt, how pained. His mother had never hurt him like that before- she is now just as dangerous as Butch. Gerard wants to die.

“Gerard, I’m sorry I can’t help, okay? I’m sorry!” He grabs Gerard’s shoulder in a soft grip.

“No!” Gerard shakes out of Mikey’s touch and pushes him back. He doesn’t think, he just leaves the room and runs out the front door, ignoring Mikey’s soft cries of protest. He thinks to lock himself up in Ray’s house, but it’s Christmas Eve and that’s selfish. Instead, he sprints down the street, despite the doctor’s warning and his body’s remonstrating muscles. He runs and runs, pretending he doesn’t hear Mikey scream his name, pretending he has a plan, pretending he simply does not exist.

He doesn’t stop until he reaches the local supermarket. Exhaustion and fatigue take over, and he falls to the ground in the front of the parking lot, not seeing the concerned looks of passerby’s.

“Oh, man, are you okay there, little dude?” someone with a strong Jersey accent asks. “Hey- you alright?”

Gerard struggles to his feet and pushes past the stranger, limping towards a payphone. The stranger follows. “You have four quarters?” Gerard asks, not caring that he is using the stranger for his money.

“Yeah, sure,” he digs in his pocket, handing Gerard some change, “but are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay, so would you leave me the fuck alone?” He doesn’t even try to keep the menace out of his tone.

The guy backs up, hands held up innocently; his guilty expression contrasts it greatly. “Sorry, I was just trying to help. Merry Christmas. Jerk,” he adds under his breath as he turns around and walks the other way.

Gerard’s shaky hands jab the quarters in the money slot and he dials the one number he knows by heart.

“Hello?” Relief floods into Gerard’s heart; he’s so thankful of who picked up.

“Frankie?” he whispers, tears already sliding down his face. “Frankie?”

The line’s silent for a moment. “Gerard? Hey, is that you?” Gerard whimpers in response. “G, whose phone is this- where are you? Do you need help? Are you hurt? I can drive my aunt’s car up to get you, or… just… just tell me where you’re at!”

Gerard wipes his nose with his hand and reveals his location.

“Okay, I’ll be there in a minute, babe. Just don’t leave, okay? Just stay up front by the store lights. Gerard, it’s Christmas Eve. What… Ugh. Okay, I’m going to hang up now, alright?”

“I love you, Frankie,” Gerard mumbles in his sob-driven voice. He’s not sure how true this statement is as a whole, but he knows he means it with all of his heart at the moment.

“I… I’ll be there in a minute.” Gerard drops his head in disappointment. He didn’t expect an answer, but… it still hurts.

He huddles against himself on a bench and watches as heavy snowflakes fall from the black sky, giving the world a sort of eerie glow. Why did he have to call Frank? He is most likely ruining his holiday, and he knows now that Frank probably doesn’t even like him anymore. He shouldn’t have lashed out at Mikey. No, and now he was going to make everyone else miserable because of his mistakes.

Gerard is good at that, ruining other people’s lives with his pathetic one. Why can’t he just die and get it over with? He absentmindedly messes with the strings of his black hoodie while shivering in the cold.

When a white car pulls into the front of the lot, Gerard knows it has to be Frank. He doesn’t move to greet him, though; rather, he waits for Frank to meet him.

“Gerard!” Frank shouts as he slams the door shut to his car and runs to him. “Hey, honey. You gotta be cold.” He takes off his own coat and wraps it around Gerard. “Come on.”

Gerard allows himself to silently be lead to the passenger seat of the car by Frank’s arm, his teeth rattling the whole way. He is gently pushed into the door, and before he can protest, Frank plants a light kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“Frank…”

“Shh,” Frank whispers, helping Gerard with the buckle of his seatbelt. “Wait for me to get in the car.”

When Frank does, the drive is silent. Gerard cries silently while Frank constantly adjusts the heat. “This good?” he says, over and over again. Gerard never answers.

When they pull up to a beaten down townhouse, Gerard’s crying worsens. He’s never been to Frank’s before, and he has no idea what to expect. _Awful, you’re awful_ , a voice tells him. _Meeting his aunt under these circumstances- awful_.

“You okay, Gerard?” Frank asks gently, grabbing for his hand. Unlike with Mikey, Gerard accepts the gesture of comfort.

He refuses to make eye-contact as he mumbles, “I’m so sorry, Frank.”

“What?” He feels a hand tug at his chin. “Look at me, Gerard. No, look. You have nothing to be sorry about- why would you say that. Look at me.”

His voice is so sincere, so sweet, and Gerard knows he doesn’t deserve it. “I ruined your Christmas. And you aunt’s. I’m sorry.”

Frank shakes his head and unbuckles his seatbelt to scoot closer to Gerard. “Sweetie, you haven’t ruined anything. I just want you to be okay. I don’t want you to be unhappy.” _Like you,_ Gerard can’t help but to think. “My aunt won’t mind- she’s a kind lady. Just a bit stern, but not mean. Come on, let’s get out of this icebox.”

When out of the car, Gerard grabs for Frank’s hand and follows him to the cramped, lopsided townhouse. He doesn’t take in his surroundings as they enter, only the warmth. A clock on the wall reads nine-fifteen. “I need to call Mikey,” Gerard mumbles.

Frank nods worriedly, though Gerard’s not sure why. “Okay. You can use my cell. It has your home number in it.”

Gerard hesitates to accept the phone held out to him. What if Butch picks up the phone, or his mother? What if Mikey is in trouble or out searching for him?

What if Mikey doesn’t want to talk to him at all?

“Uh,” he sniffles awkwardly.  “Could you, uh… could y-you, uh… could you?”

“No,” comes Frank’s immediate answer. “You need to do it, G. I’ll be right back.” He force-shoves the phone into Gerard’s hand and walks up a narrow staircase, leaving him alone in the dark, unnerving entryway.

He stares at the phone in his hand, not really sure how to use it and its advanced technology.  After several excruciating minutes of struggling and frustration, he finally manages to push a button that calls home.

“Gerard?”

Gerard nearly collapses in relief. Never has Mikey’s voice sounded so beautiful in his life.

“Gerard!” he repeats, obviously in tears. “Please tell me that’s you!”

Gerard sighs. “I’m with Frank.”

He can practically _hear_ the mixture of relief and worry in Mikey’s sob. “Can you please get your ass home before… before Mom and Butch find out and I fucking explode from worry? I’m sorry, Gerard, I’m so sorry!”

“S’okay, Mikes,” he sighs. “Listen, I love you. I think I’m gonna stay the night at Frank’s, ‘kay? I’ll try to be home sometime tomorrow, I just can’t… can’t be there right now.”

Mikey’s rattling chest can be heard through the phone, and Gerard wants to puke. “Gerard, I’m worried!” he cries.

“Shh, you’ll wake someone up.”

“I don’t give a fuck, G! It’s Christmas Eve, and I can’t spend the holiday alone! You’re so fucking selfish, you know that, Gerard? So selfish! Fuck you!”

The line goes silent as Mikey hangs up, leaving Gerard shaking and in tears.

Yes, he’s selfish, and no, he can’t bring himself to care.

Footsteps sound from nearby, and he turns to come face-to-face with Frank. He pushes the phone into his hands and wipes at the tears on his face. “I’m okay, so don’t ask. I… I wanna spend the night.” He hopes he sounds brave and determined, but he seriously doubts it. Most likely he sounds broken and defeated as well as desperate and lonely.

“Sure, sure,” Frank mumbles, pulling Gerard against him for a hug.

“I don’t know you, Frank,” he whispers against his chest, neither accepting nor rejecting the hug.

“Let’s not get into this right now, G. Think happy thoughts for tonight.”

Just to test him, Gerard meets his lips with Frank’s, not quite close enough to be considered a kiss. “I love you, Frank Iero.” There.

Frank squeezes his eyes shut, but Gerard can hardly tell from this close up. “I love you, too, Gerard Way.”

But it doesn’t feel like it. It doesn’t feel like love as Frank pushes his lips against Gerard’s and licks his bottom lip. It doesn’t feel like love as Gerard opens his mouth and allows for Frank to gently suck his tongue. It doesn’t feel like love as he grinds his body against Frank’s groin, and it certainly doesn’t feel like love when Frank breaks the kiss and shies away, intimidated by the intimacy.

It feels like nothing at all, and Gerard finds himself slowly accepting that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic, sadly (for me, at least), is coming to an end. Once again, it's really, really hard for me to write angsty stuff right now, so that's kind of why my other works have a more humorous vibe to them. I'm thinking 3-4 more chapters on this at most. Eh. Who knows, though? I have it planned out, but I'm not sure how long it'll take. 
> 
> Anyway! Thanks, as always, for reading!


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